Soldier
by EllieShelly
Summary: Cuddy is abducted, and that is when everything changes. All they know is that time is of the essence. Rated M for dark, dark things. You have been warned. House/Cuddy established relationship. Rachel is five. Rape/abuse/beating... And a whole lot of sad.
1. Chapter 1

Cuddy finished typing the last letter of the impending proposal and began to close all the windows that were open on her computer. She shut them down one by one, glad that House's case had been solved and that she had no paperwork to moderate, or risky procedures to not approve.

It also meant that she got to leave relatively early. Early enough that Rachel would still be a bundle of energy when she got home. She knew House was already there, probably gloating at his own ability to diagnose someone based on the colour of their shoes.

Victory sex for him tonight, she smirked. His leg would be at it's most painless and so they'd get the chance to _really _enjoy each other, and take their time.

She clipped her briefcase shut and walked out of her office, locking the door behind her. The clinic was empty and closed, and all the night nurses were assigned to other floors. It was eerily quiet, but she scoffed at herself, rationalizing that there was nothing to be worried about.

She still couldn't shake that feeling, though.

The elevator got to the darkened parking garage, and Cuddy made a mental note to tell maintenance to replace the bulbs. It was almost impossible to find her keys, she thought, as she searched through her handbag.

There was a noise on from the other side of the carpark, and Cuddy stiffened. She turned around slowly and breathed out when she saw that nothing was there - even though she already knew that.

Shaking her head at her own pathetic-ness, she went back to the task at hand. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't even have time to register someone coming up behind her, and whacking the back of her head.

He even caught her before she hit the concrete, so she didn't make a sound.

* * *

"House," Rachel asked, putting on her most angelic face, "where's Mommy?"

House sighed. "I don't know."

"Why?" She wheedled, having become increasingly inquisitive in recent months. Her favourite thing to answer with was 'why', and House was exhausted from having to explain everything that piqued the little girl's interest.

"Because."

"That's a dumb answer."

"I know."

Rachel stuck her hands on her skinny hips. "You're boring when you're tired."

"And you're annoying when you're awake," he countered, not feeling particularly considerate of Rachel's feelings.

Her vigour faded. "I just asked where Mom was," she murmured, looking hurt.

"She's... on her way. That's the best I can do."

"Okay," Rachel accepted, then shuffled out of the room.

House winced, knowing that she would tell Cuddy about this. And then Cuddy would get mad, and he would get mad back, and...they'd shout and end up seething for the night.

Checking the time, House whipped out his phone. If the fight was inevitable, he'd rather get it over with. He got Cuddy's voicemail.

_Hey, you've reached Dr Lisa Cuddy, please leave a messa - _

House hung up, and dialed another number automatically. "Where are you?"

"At work," Wilson replied, "where are _you?_"

"At home. I've just made the kid cry, and I'm going to be punished." He paused. "And not in a good way."

"What? House, what did you - "

"I'm not calling for a lecture - though no doubt you're going to give it to me anyway. Listen, I need you to go down to Cuddy's office and tell her to hurry her big ass home."

"You know that I'm not your errand boy, right?" Wilson answered.

"Past experience would tell me differently," he replied. "Come on. We both know that all those people you're currently charting on are going to be dead before the ink is even dry."

"House, some of us take our professional responsibilities seriously."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a bad person with no morals, get over it." He paused. "I'm still waiting to hear you walking to Cuddy's office."

"You're impossible, you know that?" Wilson said, but he got up all the same and began walking.

"Atta boy, Wilson," House crowed, hearing footsteps. "You're looking more and more like a doormat everyday."

"You know I'm doing something _for you, _right? Usually you don't insult someone who's helping you out."

"Actually, usually I do. Just one of the many things Cuddy find's so irresistable about me," he joked, pressing the phone into his ear. "My hand is getting tired, can we hurry this up? Break into a run, or a skip."

"As attractive as that would be, I'd rather not break my ankle," Wilson said as he pressed the elevator button. "So... how are things with Cuddy?"

"Good."

There was pause. "Good? House, my cereal this morning was good. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Everything's fine, we're going great. She sexy, smart, funny... Practically a goddess of a woman. And I am very happy to be the one groping her on a daily basis. Better?" House smirked.

"Yes," Wilson answered warily as he walked through the clinic. "Why did you sound so... odd when I asked first?"

"I didn't want you stick that nose of yours into my business."

Wilson chuckled. "You think after three years together you'd be okay with people knowing you have a strong relationship..."

"And you'd think that after three years together you'd stop asking me incessantly how things are going. Wilson, we can handle it."

"Alright," Wilson muttered, opening the door to Cuddy's office. "House, she's not here."

"You sure?"

"Unless she's hiding under the desk, yes, I'm sure," Wilson quipped.

"Great."

"House, talk to Rachel. Cuddy must be on her way home, so if you and Rachel patch things up before then, I doubt there'll be a fight. Make sense?"

"Perfectly. There's no way I'm gonna do it, but it makes sense all the same."

Wilson sighed. "Night House."

"Night Wilson."

* * *

Wilson was making his way down to the parking garage about half an hour later, texting Sam that he was going to be home soon.

He walked across the parking lot to his car, and was about to unlock it when he saw the familiar black hybrid parked a few spots away.

It looked like Cuddy's car.

Frowning, he went to investigate. The car looked fine, but when he rounded it he saw Cuddy's bag on the floor and a suspicious dark stain next to it.

He gulped. He knew what blood looked like.

He whipped out his phone and dialed 911. "I think... I'm not sure what's happened, but my friend is gone and her bag and blood is on the floor. Yes. Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital."

He hung up, heart beating faster. "House," he said when the line picked up, "I think you should get down here."

House groaned. "I don't care how fast they're dying, I don't want another case!"

"No... It's..."

"Spit it out," he hurried.

"Cuddy's car is still here, but she's not in the hospital. Her bag is on the floor and there's blood next to it." Wilson said as fast as could.

There was silence on the other end, then, "I'll be there in five."

Then all Wilson heard was the dial tone.

* * *

House raced down to Rachel room, where she was dressing up a doll. "Come on," he instructed, picking her up from under the arms and tucking on his hip.

"House!" Rachel squealed. "Put me down!"

"We're going to find Mommy," he said, grabbing his cane and running out the door.

"But - you said - I... I don't understand!" Rachel whimpered, as House shoved her in the backseat.

"Just... Ssh, kid, alright? Something's..." He stopped as he turned on the ignition. He didn't want to scare the kid.

Rachel sat quietly in the back, and House kept peering in the mirror so he could see. He knew he was driving way too fast, but... But something could have happened. To _his _Cuddy. There wasn't a speed limit in the world that would keep him from getting there as fast as he could.

"House?" Rachel asked quietly. "I haven't... got any shoes."

"S'okay," House replied immediately, pulling into the carpark. He winced when he saw the two squad cars that were there.

"Why are there cops?" Rachel asked, again quietly. She could sense that something was wrong.

"I don't know," House muttered, opening the door. "Come on, kid."

"But I haven't got any - " Rachel began, pointing to her bare feet. "Shoes," she finished, and burst into tears.

House was long out of the car. "What happened?" He demanded as he found Wilson.

"They're looking now. Apparently there's evidence of foul play," Wilson relayed.

"Since she's gone, I'd say it was 'apparent'." House snarled.

"House..." Wilson started. "They don't know anything for sure yet. That blood might not even be hers! Some kid could've scraped their knee."

"It's fresh, Wilson."

"I know but - "

"It's not a coincidence."

There was a frosty silence. One of the policemen saw him, and moved over. "Are you Greg House?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"Can we ask you a couple questions?" The detective asked.

"Sure," House ran a hand through his hair.

"Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt your partner?"

House thought. Sure, there were some people who didn't like her but he honestly couldn't think of anyone who'd _take _her. Not like this. "No."

"Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you?"

House froze. "Are you saying this is my fault?"

The detective looked up from his notepad. "These are just routine questions, doctor." The detective narrowed his eyes. "Do you have a reason to think that this might be your fault?"

House swallowed. "Nothing directly."

"Indirectly?" The detective pressed.

House knew that there were many people out there who seriously did want to hurt him. He also knew that lots of those people he wasn't aware of, and wasn't therefore aware of what they were capabl_e _of. "A lot of people don't like me," he settled with.

The detective made a note. "Dr House..." he trailed off. "I've seen a picture of Lisa..."

"So?" House growled.

"Are you aware of the string of abductions that have been taking place in and around New Jersey over the last couple of years?"

"What?" House asked.

"Successful women between thirty and forty-five. Usually dark-haired." He paused. "I don't want to alarm you but she definitely fits the pattern. And all the other victims were taken in a similar way."

"Other victims?"

"Eight other women, over two years."

"What happened to them?" House demanded.

"Dr House, until we have more evidence then I don't think we should discuss the specifics. I was just warning you that that is path we'll explore. I'll take your number and if we find anything you'll be the first to know." The detective assured.

"Tell me." House said lowly.

"It's not necessary now," the detective said diplomatically. "It's more important that you focus on taking care of your daughter."

"My what?"

the detective frowned. "The little girl who came with you, who's with your friend?"

"Oh... Of course," he straightened up. "How long were these women gone for?"

"I told you that I can't - "

"Did they survive?"

Silence.

"That's a no then," House put his head in his hands.

"We're going to do everything that we can to find her," the detective promised.

"No," House replied, "do more."

.

Cuddy blinked her eyes open, but she could barely see anything.

It was pitch black.

She could feel a throbbing in the back of her head, and moved back to touch it. She felt something wet and knew that it was blood.

Where the hell was she?

"You're awake."

She leapt back, slamming herself against the freezing stone of the wall. Her heart was racing and the adrenaline was pumping through her veins.

She was crying.

"It's okay..." A voice said, from somewhere.

Then a hand reached out to cup her cheek. She flinched, so the hand took a forceful hold. "Don't worry, sweetheart, we're going to take things slow..."


	2. Chapter 2

House walked slowly back over to where Wilson was comforting Rachel, holding her on his hip because he was worried about glass on the floor. The tear tracks on her face were going, but he could see clearly that House's composure was white as a sheet.

"What did he say?" Wilson asked quietly, turning Rachel away so she wouldn't hear. She didn't like this and clamoured to be facing them again.

"That they think she's the ninth in a long line of women," he replied, and Wilson frowned.

"I don't understand," he questioned.

"There have been eight - well, maybe nine - women abducted and," House took a deep breath, "killed by the same guy."

"Oh."

"Yeah." House agreed, looking at the sadness on Wilson's face. "Oh."

"What are you gonna do?" Wilson said after a moment.

House shrugged and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I... honestly have no idea. I can't imagine..." He tailed off. "This is not something I'm prepared for."

"No one's prepared for this House," Wilson soothed, "it's not an expected occurrence."

"That's exactly my point!" House continued, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do here because there is no way to act here. Do I... go home? Wait? Sit around bugging the police until they strip search every man, woman and child in New Jersey?"

"I - I can't tell you, House. I don't know."

"As helpful as that is," House snarked, "it would be useful to have some actual advice here."

"I can't give it to you!" Wilson exclaimed, jiggling Rachel.

"House," she piped up. "What's happening?"

"Mommy's missing." He said simply.

"Missing?" Rachel repeated. "Like... what?"

House grimaced. The whole point of saying it so bluntly was so that he didn't have explain it detail, hoping that Rachel would be too distraught to ask questions.

"Like when you lost your bear," he elaborated, remembering the panic when Rachel had realized that Mr-Whatever-His-Name was not in her bag.

Rachel's lip quivered. "But... but we - we didn't never find him," she stuttered, and House realized that he'd used a bad analogy.

"Sorry." He thought. "Mom's gone away for a bit."

"Where?" Rachel asked.

House sighed. This is why he avoided kids. "Somewhere."

"That's a bad answer," Rachel pointed out.

"Well it's the only one I've got, alright?" He snarled, and she reared back, pressing closer to Wilson's chest.

"I want Mommy," she mumbled.

"You can't have her," House answered snidely again, feeling his chest tighten. Cuddy was missing, his Cuddy was _missing. _Abducted, kidnapped, whatever, this was serious. This was bad.

"What House means is," Wilson interjected, "that you're going to only be living with House for a while."

Rachel looked horrified.

"It's alright kid," he assured, "I've got no rules about ice cream consumption and I couldn't give two shits about when you go to bed... So you've basically got a free pass to wreck havoc."

"I don't like it," she whispered.

"I know," House agreed, eyes softening. "I know you don't want me, but right now I'm all you've got."

Rachel deliberated this for a moment, before nodding. She held her arms out and House took her. He would have put her down but he didn't want her bare feet to get dirty and put dusty footprints everywhere.

Glancing at the kid currently on his arm, he watched her yawn and her eyes flutter. "Better get going, huh?" He asked, but she shook her head vehemently.

"No."

"No?" Wilson asked.

"I'm going to wait here until my Mom comes back." She said decidedly.

"Nope," House said, taking off for the car, "you're coming home."

"House - " She began to protest, but he shushed her.

"We don't know where she is, Rachel. I know you want her, and right now so do I, but there's no use wishing and hoping that it'll happen, because it won't."

He carried her back to the car and deposited her in the back seat. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with her?" House asked, turning to Wilson.

"House, you've spent time with her before..." Wilson reminded, but appreciating how hard this was - or was going to be - on him.

"Not like this. I've never had her... depend on me before," he revealed, and Wilson saw the flash of pain.

"I know this is hard, but you can do it," he assured his friend. "Hopefully they'll have Cuddy back quickly, but until then you have me and Sam if you need us."

"Oh good," he crowed, "Satan's Child-Hating Spawn and you. Yep, Rachel's going to be fine!"

"Don't do anything stupid," Wilson warned.

"Like what?" House scoffed.

"Vicodin," Wilson said quietly, and House felt another stab of pain in his thigh. "Your leg hurts more when you're stressed, and right now you're pretty much as stressed as you can get."

"Thanks for the psychoanalysis," he said sarcastically, "but I'm going to be alright."

"So is she," Wilson replied quickly, and they both knew which she he was talking about.

* * *

House put Rachel down on the hardwood floor of the living room, and then threw his leather jacket onto the couch. "Bed," he instructed.

"It's too early," Rachel countered, "and I need to have my bath."

House rolled his eyes. "Can't you be a normal kid and be satisfied in your own filth?"

Seeing the trepidation in her eyes made him realize that he was being insensitive. She obviously didn't understand what was happening, and was anxious enough about being solely with him. "I'll run it for you," he murmured after a second, knowing that she'd either burn or freeze if she ran it herself.

"Thanks," she answered.

They both stood there awkwardly, waiting for the next move. House took the initiative and started toward the bathroom, turning on the taps.

Rachel stood in the doorway, chewing on her lip. "House," she said, as he was testing the bath water with his elbow.

"Yes?" He muttered absentmindedly.

"I, uh... I don't really understand what's happening. This is weird."

"Basically," he flipped over and sat against the tub, "your mom is away for a while. She's going to come back, but it might not be for a few weeks. Until then, I'm going to look after you."

Rachel considered this. "She is coming back though?"

House knew that there was only one acceptable answer. "Yes."

"Okay," Rachel nodded, "you'll be nice, won't you?"

"I'm not nice?" He asked.

Well," Rachel wheedled, smiling, "you could be nicer."

House smirked. "Get in your bath," he told her, pushing off the ground. "And don't drown!" He called back to her, as he went into the living room.

He sank back on the couch, and realized that all he wanted in that moment was for Cuddy to walk through the door and sink down next to him, nuzzling his neck and putting her head on his chest.

The door stayed closed and his neck stayed un-nuzzled.

He turned on the TV, hoping to distract his attention before he started blubbing like a baby. The first thing that flashed up was the news.

_44 year old Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was reported missing this evening, after being abducted from the hospital parking lot. Police say that they are hopeful that she will be fou - _

House turned off the TV, breathing heavily. Seeing her smiling face on that screen, totally unaware. She could be anywhere... She could be in a basement, or a car, or tied to someone's bed frame. House shivered. She could already be dead.

He blinked, refusing to believe that that might be happening. That there ever was a future that didn't involve Cuddy being with him.

He rubbed his face, especially over his eyes. How could this happen? How could everything change, how could everything fall apart in the space of a few hours?

How could he pretend that everything was going to be okay when inside he was scared shitless?

He knew that Rachel would eventually ask questions. She'd run with the "Mom's away" story for a fortnight, but then she'd begin to doubt it.

And anyway, the police might need to talk to her. Or she might see the news channel when she's flipping over to a cartoon. Or a friend's parent might mention it to her, not knowing.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that you're responsible for a child. After spending so long fooling himself, it was amazing to realize that Rachel did trust him, and while having him be her carer was not her first choice she was definitely okay with it.

What if something happened and he had to tell her Cuddy wasn't coming back?

Would she stay with him? Would he want her to stay? Would it be too painful to see her go?

He didn't know. He was felled. For once in his life he didn't know all the answers.

.

Cuddy felt the tears well in her eyes as another blow fell across her face. The lingering sting in so many places was leaving it so she felt like she was on fire.

She wasn't cut out for this. She'd never had a particularly high pain threshold and she knew that this was minor. That it was nothing compared with what's to come.

Another forceful hit slammed into her cheek. She toppled back, colliding sharply with the wall before falling to the floor and trapping her chained wrists beneath her.

There was blood dripping off the bridge of her nose and onto the floor.

"Ssh..." He said softly, running a hand down the back of her calf.

She flinched away and whimpered, knowing what would be coming next. Wanting desperately to stop that from happening.

She felt broad fingers begin to work at her skirt zipper, pulling it down agonizingly slowly, so each tooth caught the air as it was undone.

Cuddy let out a sob, as tears mixed with the blood on her nose. Her face was mashed into the wall as he began removing her skirt.

She kicked out, catching him in the stomach.

"Bitch," he hissed, hitting her once more, hard.

Then her skirt was slid off her legs. She pressed her lips together, to keep from crying out. He watched for a minute, holding onto each smooth calf.

Then he got up, dusting the blood of his hands. "Enough for today," he told her quietly, but with an unmistakable element of happiness in his voice. "See you tomorrow."

He walked swiftly out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The noise echoed through the darkness, until there was nothing but the sobs of a scared woman to be heard.


	3. Chapter 3

House could hear exuberant splashing from the bathroom, and shouts of "no ducky! swim ducky, swim!" from Rachel. He winced with each shriek of delight, worried and apprehensive about how it would affect her if she ever found out the truth.

He knew that he could do this. He wasn't naïve, he'd been around Rachel day in and day out for three years, so he was being stupid to think he couldn't handle watching her. He'd babysat before, and the kid was okay with him.

It was all going to be alright.

But the truth was, he worked hard. And now that Cuddy was missing - something that hadn't really set in yet - he could foresee himself working harder. Rachel needed someone here for her, and not just the nanny.

He couldn't believe he was doing this, but it really seemed like the only option.

"Hey, Arlene... it's Greg," House said, listening to Cuddy's mother's breathing.

"Oh..."

Arlene and House notoriously didn't see eye to eye, often arguing, bickering and fighting whenever their paths crossed. He had _never _called her. So her surprise when she heard his voice of apparently his own free will was obvious.

"Uh... Does Lisa want to talk to me?" She asked, and House paused, wondering how to do this.

How do you tell a woman that her child has been abducted? "Arlene," he said slowly, "have you seen the news tonight?"

She paused. "No."

"Turn it on."

There was silence down the other end and House could hear someone fumbling. He heard the buzz of a television switching on and then the repetitive noise as Arlene kept changing to find the right channel.

He knew when she found it.

There was a strangled cry and the drop of the remote. House heard the soft thump as it hit a couch cushion. He could hear the reporter in the background: _Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro hospital... _

"Arlene," he cleared his throat. "Arlene!"

There was the muffled sound of sniffing before she picked up the phone again. "Wha-what happened?"

"I don't know."

There's silence. "What do I do?" Arlene said forcefully. "Tell me what I should do."

House grimaced. He didn't _know. _There was no protocol for this situation, no magic set of instructions that would make everything okay. "You..." He trailed, running a weary hand through his bedraggled hair. "I can't tell you," he exhaled, "because I have no fucking clue."

There was a silence. "But... But she's my _daughter,_" Arlene gasped. "She's my _child. _How..." She stopped. "This can't be happening."

"It can, and it is," House said unsympathetically. "I was thinking that you could... come down here?" House paused. "For Rachel's sake, obviously." He clarified.

Arlene sniffed, but he could tell she was nodding. "I'll see you in the morning," she answered briskly.

House waited. "Arlene..."

"Yes?"

"It's... going to be alright."

Arlene sighed. "Oh God, I hope so."

* * *

House looked at the clock and realised that Rachel had been in the bath for an hour. Hoping to avoid drowning the kid, he got up and went in. She was sitting in the tub looking unhappy and despondent, flapping at the disintegrating bubbles.

"What's up, kid?" House asked.

"Miss mommy," Rachel muttered.

House groaned inwardly. He couldn't handle this. Not hours after she was missing... God, who knew when she was coming back? If it would be ever? House sighed.

"I know." He bent over and picked her up from under her shoulders, trying not to groan as soapy water splashed on his trousers. "But c'mon, kid. Mom's so strict! No cookies, no chocolate . . . she'll be telling you not to breathe soon."

Rachel deliberated. "I would like more cookies." She said slowly.

"You want some now?" He asked, passing her one of the fluffy towels. She haphazardly wrapped it around herself - getting herself no dryer in the process - and her eyes lit up.

"Really?" She gasped. It was nine o'clock! There was absolutely no on-pain-of-death cookie eating after six! "But Mama says that if I eat cookies after six then I won't sleep."

"What does Mommy know?" He scoffed, taking the towel and properly drying her off. The he passed her a pair of sickeningly sweet pajama pants and their matching top.

Rachel gave an incredulous chuckle. "Mommy knows _everything._" She said seriously. "Even when I'm _so _careful she still knows!"

House raised an eyebrow. As skilled as Rachel thought she was, sneaking into the kitchen _while they were eating at the table _could not be called sly in any universe.

"She won't know," House replied, "it'll be our secret. 'Kay?"

"Okay," Rachel agreed, her sunny smile bubbling over. House got up - accompanied with a groan as his thigh cramped - and extended his hand to her. She took it and followed him out of the sopping bathroom.

As they entered the kitchen Rachel yawned and pushed herself up against his side, nuzzling into his hip. He could practically feel her falling asleep. So - cringing in his head - he bent down and picked her up.

She wrapped her little arms around his neck. "Night night," she said in a sing-song voice.

House furrowed his brows. "Goodnight," he said awkwardly.

He placed her down in her bed and pulled the covers up, God forbid that she wake up from being too cold and come and climb into bed with him, looking for Cuddy.

He was stricken when he realised that this how it would be for a considerable amount of time.

Him, and the kid, and Cuddy's mother . . . oh dear God what had he done.

His immediate first thought was to curse Cuddy for leaving him in a lurch like this, but he felt bad as soon as he'd even thought it.

He had a dark mind - and a realistic idea of how things happened - so he couldn't help but imagine where she was.

Somewhere dark, and alone . . . and he didn't want think about what could be happening to her right now.

The truth was, he couldn't fathom a world without her in it. A place without the two of them together was not a place he wanted to be.

She was his best friend.

She was the one woman who really, really loved. She was . . . words cannot describe what she was to him.

People thought that he was horrible and hurtful and had no regard for other's feelings and that was true, for the most part. But not with Cuddy - he didn't want anyone to think that he didn't treat her well.

He knew it was stupid, and ignorant - and totally against his world view - but he'd been brought up with the admittedly crooked world view that a man was to find a woman, marry her, get her pregnant, and spend the rest of his life making her happy.

Well, so far the idea of marriage still made him want to break out in a cold sweat and as much as he tolerated Rachel the thought of having someone with half his DNA made him want to run for the hills... but as for the other things... he'd found a woman, and he wanted to at least _try _and make her happy.

As sexist and as archaic as it was, he was her man. He was supposed to protect her, and keep her safe.

He failed in that respect.

He'd always thought that the worst day of his life - aside from the infarction - would be the day she broke up with him.

He'd never even _entertained _the idea that she might die before she had the chance to dump him.

* * *

Cuddy felt a salty tear drip of the bridge of her nose onto the floor.

_Everything was hurting. _

She knew he was behind her . . . she could hear him. She was wishing, and hoping, and _praying _that he would leave her alone.

Her face was throbbing, with blood trickling out of her mouth, nose and deep cut across the top of her head.

He'd hit her so hard that she'd fell into the corner of the wall.

And now she was on the floor with her hands twisted behind her back by a rough piece of rope tying them together.

She knew what he was about to do to her.

A sob escaped as she felt a sharp blow to the back of her calves, one that she knew would bruise.

"Shut up," he sneered, pressing her head uncomfortably harder into dirty concrete.

He moved over her, into her. She stiffened beneath his touch and started to scream, thrashing herself about and trying to knock him off.

No matter what was he did to her, she was not going to sit back and take it.

But in the end she had no choice.

A vice like grip tightened around her throat as he flipped her over, starting again.

He hit her so hard that her eyes clouded over and she wailed and screamed as her head hit the concrete over and over, harder and harder, until her hair was matted with blood.

He kept going, slamming deeper until he was satisfied. She let out ragged breaths, pulling her knees up to her chest.

He ripped her head back and wiped himself off in it.

_He wiped himself off in her hair. _

She lashed out and kicked him, only to receive a slap in the face.

She threw herself back and curled her arms around herself, starting to sob loudly as he left the basement, slamming the door behind him.

She felt the tang of blood in her mouth.

She melt the burn between her thighs, were she was sure that he'd ripped something.

But most of all she felt the prickling all over her body, where every nerve was throbbing. She shut her and placed her head gingerly against that wall, leaping back as the now open wound touch the brick.

She moaned, and lay herself down on the floor.

She just wanted to go home.


	4. Chapter 4

Arlene Cuddy pulled into her daughter's driveway at seven am the next morning, having not slept a wink. Her eyes were fuzzy and hooded and all she wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep for a full night.

But, of course, there was no way she could do that.

Lisa had never been a particularly rebellious teenager, but she'd had her moments. Arlene had always felt that she knew she was different from other kids her age - she was too focussed, too driven - so that every now and then she would go all out and make some stupid, reckless move, as if just to remind everyone she could act her age.

These rare occasions terrified Arlene, with her worrying her sick every time. Lisa would traipse home in the early hours, pale green and usually weeping, saying _never, never, never again. _There'd been drinking and drugs and - although she wished she didn't know this - lots of sex.

And every time, Arlene had the image of Lisa and a friend stumbling down some dark road at three am in clothes that barely covered their lithe, teenage bodies and deciding to take a lift from a whisky-smelling dangerous rapist psychopath.

She didn't think that would happen when her daughter was responsible forty-four year old mother.

She'd stopped worrying about things like that happening to her daughter, as they became so unlikely that worrying over them seemed like a waste of space. She'd rather focus on things that did require attention, such as Lisa's love life.

Arlene had a respect for House and admitted that she couldn't think of anyone more suited for her daughter. But part of her wished that she'd settled down with that nice Lucas fellow, and had a little family and suburban house by now.

But she knew her daughter. And she knew she hadn't been satisfied.

God, she was such an idiot. Why did she spend so much time criticising? Why couldn't she be more forthcoming about her pride for her eldest? All the things that made Arlene glow to be able to tell people... what if she never got the chance to tell her daughter how much she means to her?

On some level, she knew that Lisa knew that. On another, she just wanted - _needed _- one more chance.

She wiped a tear away from her eye as she turned off the ignition. She got out of the car and retrieved her suitcase from the boot, then ambled up to the front door. She rang the bell once.

She heard a mumbling from inside that she assumed was House. Although him and Lisa weren't married, Arlene had long accepted that he was her son-in-law and that it was unlikely that there would be a break up anytime soon... so she made a conscious effort to get along with him.

It didn't always go to plan though.

Every meal, every holiday, every Christmas there was some spat that they would have, and then Lisa would get pissed off from trying to mediate. She'd flounce off, complaining that the pair of them couldn't be civil for two days etc, etc. And House would go and calm her down.

Arlene had to give it to him, she never seen anyone who could handle Lisa like he could. Her temperamental, sarcastic, opinionated daughter became a lot calmer around him, as if she felt that she didn't have to be that person.

So there was one thing she liked about House. She'd just have to focus on the positives.

"Morning," House muttered, opening the door and letting her inside.

He looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was messed up, sticking up in all angles. Arlene noticed that his limp was heavier, more pronounced. It always got worse when he was unhappy or stressed.

"Coffee?" He murmured, jerking her out of her reverie.

"Yes, please," she replied, placing her bag down on the ground.

She knew that it was just because it was early, and the lights had been off, and the house wasn't awake yet . . . but she swore that the house felt lifeless without her daughter in it. Everything was bathed in shadow and all the sounds and movements were awkward, as if they weren't sure what they were doing.

"Here." House passed her a steaming cup.

"Thank you." She took it, and sipped.

There was a cold silence.

"Are the... police, or the... you know, going to come over?" Arlene stammered. She was terrified of saying the wrong thing.

"I don't know," House shrugged. He didn't elaborate.

Arlene nodded. "What happened?" She demanded. "Tell me."

"Not much to tell," House said, lowering himself onto a chair at the kitchen table. At Arlene's pained expression, he sighed and continued. "She was working late. I was here, with Rachel. She left work, she got to the car and after that we don't know. Her bag was on the floor, and so was blood. So far they're assuming its hers."

Arlene felt the bile rise in the back of her throat. "Did they... say anything else?"

House took a deep breath. Did he want to mention the serial killer thing? "No," he said smoothly. "They didn't say anything else."

"Okay then," Arlene said, back to business. "Why am I here?"

"Rachel," House answered briskly, mirroring her tone. "I work. She needs someone. Was logical I'd call you."

"I could take her back to Connecticut with me," Arlene alternated. "If you thought she'd be in your way."

House thought about this. Sure, it would be a nice, easy solution just send the kid packing with her grandmother and bring her back when Cuddy came back . . . but he knew that wasn't an option. He knew he had some obligation to Rachel, and he hated to think how Cuddy would feel if he didn't even _try _to take care of her.

"No," House shook his head. "She has school, friends. Makes sense for her to stay here."

"Maybe it would be better for her, though," Arlene pushed.

"Maybe it wouldn't," House said coldly.

"Greg, all I'm trying to do is - " She started, but House cut her off.

"Move her away from me? 'Cause I'm the bastard who got her mother kidnapped? Is that it?" He fumed.

Arlene raised an eyebrow. She wasn't going to pretend that wasn't what she thought.

"Come on. How could you think I could do that her? That I would let _anything _happen to her," he said through gritted teeth. His fists clenched.

"All I know is that she was here, and now she's not." Arlene glared at him. "I'm thinking about what's best for my granddaughter."

"I would _never _hurt Cu- Lisa," he replied. "_Never. _You _know _that."

"I don't know what I know," Arlene replied sadly. "But if it's anyone's fault, then how is it th - "

"Just because I didn't walk her to her car this is all down to me?" House roared. He was incensed. How _dare _she accuse him of _wanting _this? Of this being his fault? _How _could she possibly think that? "I love her, Arlene. I will _always _love her. And you don't think I'm cut up about this? That this is _unthinkable? _There is nothing I would want more than for her to be safe but... she isn't. This has happened, but it is _not _my fault."

He broke off, panting raggedly. She just looked shocked. They normally bickered and argued, but he'd never shouted at her. She felt a pain in her chest when she realised that he was hurting even more than she was.

She knew that she wasn't the most important person in Lisa's life, or the most important person to Lisa... but she'd never thought that there might be someone who loved Lisa more than her own mother.

She often forgot that House loved Lisa so entirely.

"I'm sorry," she faltered. "That was... out of line."

"You think?" He snapped, but his fists unclenched. He took a deep gulp of his coffee and when he lowered the mug, he saw Rachel standing shyly in the doorway, clutching her doll to her chest. She swallowed when she saw him looking at her. "Don't just stand there, kid. Come say hello to your grandmother." House gestured to Arlene.

Rachel stayed where she was. "I heard shouting," she said, peering round to stare at the pair of them.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Evelyn said kindly. "We were being too loud. But don't I get a hello hug?"

Rachel broke out in a grin. "Nana!" She shrieked, as if she'd just seen her. She flung herself at Arlene, smiling. House felt the corners of his lip turn up.

For what it was, it was going well. But it still looked wrong with Lisa not there.

* * *

House stumbled into his office at eleven, far earlier than usual. He had to get out of the house. What with Rachel at school House couldn't handle alone time with Arlene, and he couldn't handle seeing pictures of Lisa everywhere.

He kept hoping that the detective would call, or email, or _something. _He just felt so helpless.

As he walked into the glass office, he felt his team's eyes on him. He could see their awkward glances. He knew that they knew.

"Good morning!" He burst into life, startling all of them. "Yes, I know that she's gone. I know that you know. And all I want to say is... I don't wanna talk about it!"

He glanced at open file. "Liver failure, seizures, erratic eye movements, go."

They all stared at him.

"Okay," he took a deep breath. "I know that you're all fascinated as to how I'm doing, but I'm _not _going to fall apart, or start crying or screaming. Get over that, and get under this. Sick guy, could die, _discuss._"

"What are they going to do about a Dean of Medicine?" Foreman asked.

House shrugged. "Get a temp?"

His stomach hurt. The idea of having to fight with a new Dean during which he'd be constantly reminded of the woman who he _wasn't _fighting with made him feel ill.

"House," Wilson said, sticking his head through the door, "got a minute?"

"Yep," he said shortly. "Start talking," he gestured to his team.

"What's up?" He asked, as he walked down the hall with Wilson. "You've come to pick my brain about how I'm doing?"

"House, stop it," Wilson chided. "This isn't some little thing. You don't need to pretend that this isn't killing you. They're bringing in a temporary tomorrow. And the police will no doubt call. It's a lot to take in in twelve hours. You can... be not okay."

There was a pause. "Thanks for letting me know," he said shortly. "I'll see you later."

* * *

Detective Thomas Ducharme walked into the doors of PPTH with a file in his arms and a drag in his step. He was not looking forward to this.

He'd been the lead detective on the case since day one. In the last two years he'd tried valiantly to save eight abducted women. So far, he'd failed. Not a single one had been recovered alive. He hated this, it tormented him. He could remember all the families, all the husbands and children, crying as he told them she wasn't coming back.

He was determined not to let it happen this time, but part of him new that there was a high chance that wouldn't happen.

Lisa Cuddy fit their victim profile almost to the letter, so he had no doubt that she was the ninth. It was right on time schedule and her abduction had been conducted in a similar way. Thomas swallowed as he thought of this poor women.

He knew what this man did to women. He hated to think it was happening again.

He pressed the button for the elevator and waited. He was about to let Dr House hear the story of the others and hear what he - and Lisa, if she was found alive - were facing. He'd evaded it at the abduction site but couldn't do that any longer.

Knocking on the door of the glass, he was waved in. He cleared his throat. "My name is Detective Thomas Ducharme. I'm with the NJPD and I'm working on your partner's case. May I come in?" He knew that it sounded rehearsed, but there was nothing he could do about that.

"Sure," House said, looking up from his computer. "Questions?" He asked as Ducharme sat across from him.

"And information," he said tightly.

"Information?" House repeated, and Ducharme felt sad as House's eyes lit up. It was always the same.

"About previous cases. I'm sorry, but we have nothing yet on Lisa's specific case."

"Right," House muttered, placing his head in his hands. "I assume this was the thing you were talking about last night?"

"Yes," Ducharme answered. "I'm afraid that out initial idea was correct. We're going to be continuing the investigation from here as a serial murder."

"But she's not dead yet," House said through gritted teeth.

"No," Ducharme accepted. "But each of the previous eight women are. I'm sorry to be sharing this information with you, but it's something that you should know."

"How long until you found them?" House interjected.

Ducharme swallowed. "Ranging between 3 and 6 months after their abductions. Autopsies show that they died after about two months."

"So . . . you have eight weeks to find her?" He clarified slowly.

"Yes. Dr House, if I may - " But he was interrupted by someone opening the door.

"It's not Lupus, ANA was negative - " Taub stopped when he saw Ducharme, eyeing him up.

"I'm busy," House said shortly.

"But wh - "

"_I'm busy,_" House said, with a murderous stare.

Taub scuttled out sheepishly, clutching the test results. Ducharme turned around. He could see the unhappiness, the worry etched across House's face. "Dr House - "

"Please find her," he said lowly, as if he didn't want anyone to hear. "You don't understand. I need her."

Ducharme nodded. "I'm doing everything I can."

"And you think that's enough?" He shot at him, and Ducharme could feel the venom from his words.

"If there was something else I could be doing, I would," Ducharme replied. "I can promise you that."

* * *

Cuddy felt her head throb as she lifted it up from against the headboard. Her wrists were bound behind her back and she was twisted to the point of pain. But she was on the bed today. It just made things easier, she assumed.

It wasn't as bad today. Degrading, yes. Violating, yes. Terrifying, of course. But the burn between her legs and the feeling that her heart was being ripped out her chest had subsided. A little.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on his clothes. She watched, knees pulled up to her chest, as he put on his pants. "I'm cold," she mumbled.

He whipped round to her and she jerked back. "Here," he said gruffly, and thrust a pair of pink panties at her.

She felt sick.

"Those aren't mine," she said hoarsely.

"You think I care?" He snapped.

She shifted forward and tried to pick them up with her toe. She succeeded, but with her hands behind her back she couldn't get them on. She cleared her throat and he turned to look at her.

"I..." She gestured down to the panties.

He leant over and gently guided them up her legs. She stiffened and felt her eyes stinging, but she didn't want to be sitting there... exposed like this anymore.

She expected him to do one of two things. Either, he'd untie her and throw her back in the basement or he'd up and leave her there, on the bed. Instead, horrifyingly, he scooted up to lie down next to her.

She turned her head to him, feeling her heart start beating faster.

The air was deathly still and her skin prickled, waiting for him to say or do something. He looked at her, and reached out and stroked her cheek, brushing her hair behind her ear. She felt like she was going to throw up.

"You have a family?" He asked, lightly slapping her face before letting go completely and lying back on the bedcovers.

She waited a moment before speaking. "Yes," she said, slowly and apprehensively.

"Kids?" He continued.

"A daughter," she said, and then began to plead. "Please, she's five. I . . . she doesn't have a dad, she needs me. I need to be there. Please let me go."

He stared. Then he chuckled. "You don't have a husband?"

"I have . . . a partner," she said delicately.

"But," his eyes hardened and he took a tight hold of her wrist, "you said your daughter didn't have a father."

"She doesn't," Cuddy repeated. "They don't get on well . . . no, she's my little girl. She can't do it without me."

A tear slid down her cheek.

"You love him?" He asked.

Cuddy gave a wistful smile. "I do." A few more tears escaped.

"Tell me you love me," he asked, cupping her cheeks in his palms.

Immediately, she shook her head.

He hit her so hard her head jerked back, making her chin throb and her fill up with tears again.

He repeated his requested.

"I . . . love you," she spat, her eyes steely and cold.

He smiled. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She whimpered, stiffened, and drew herself back. He held on tightly, keeping her grasped to him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her in, trying to deepen the kiss. She kept her lips pursed and closed.

He drew and back whacked her again. "Stupid bitch," he muttered, then leapt up and closed the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

House shook himself awake as his alarm blared. He reached over and turned it off, but stayed lying down.

The room was deathly quiet.

He swallowed and felt his throat scratch; he was getting sick. Well, what could be expected, as it was mid December. Well, Christmas Eve, actually. The house was empty, as Arlene had taken Rachel back to Connecticut for Christmas. Usually Cuddy didn't celebrate it - though Rachel always complained that Santa didn't care if they were Jewish - but Cuddy's sisters family did. Arlene had thought it better for Rachel to be around family over the holidays, so they'd gone for a few weeks.

They'd be back early January, in time for Rachel's new term. Of course, her teacher - a pipsqueak of a woman called Ms Julie - had encouraged a trip, practically begging them to take her. She was obviously concerned for the little girl... and seemed awkward around her.

He assumed that a kidnapped mother was not something teacher's knew how to talk about.

It had been a month since Detective Ducharme had visited him in his office. House phoned the station roughly every three days, but to no avail; they never had anything new. House was _infuriated _with the lack of evidence, or clues, or _anything _that might lead them closer to her.

After eight women he'd assumed they'd know what they were doing.

He basically lived at the hospital now. At home Rachel went between being overly hyper and _annoying _about everything to moping around in a heartbeat. The school counsellor had said this was perfectly normal, but that it was obvious that Rachel understood that something was wrong.

House and Arlene had talked about it, and had decided that neither of them had the heart to tell her.

So, Rachel continued to believe that her mother was on an extended business trip, and would be coming home soon. House wished that were the case.

He groaned and swung his good leg out of bed. The room was bathed in darkness and Cuddy's side of the bed was still pretty well made. Usually when Cuddy was away, House relished in having the whole bed to himself. Now, it felt kind of... wrong to enjoy having the entire bed, when he wanted nothing more than to have her back beside him.

The other night he'd rolled over so his head had been buried in her pillow, and he'd been horrified to find that it no longer smelled like her. Normally she smelled all vanilla and rose-y, and House always complained that she gave him headaches (though secretly revelling in her scent). Now, it just smelled of linen - courtesy of Arlene.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, thinking about the cases that he might for today. Then, he remembered that Chase was on annual Christmas leave, Taub was on a pre-holiday weekend break, Foreman was visiting his father and Thirteen was hitting up all the lesbian clubs in the tri-state area, so she'd be hungover and take the day off - not that had to be there on the day before Christmas.

There was no reason for him to be in today.

He guessed he could go and see Wilson, but Sam was being all Christmas Nazi and had him on a very tight gift buying, gift wrapping, gift giving schedule. It was disturbing - especially when she'd brought out the flow chart.

Anyway, dying people flocked to Wilson around the holidays. He'd probably have to swim through a sea of corpses to get to Wilson's office.

Not worth it.

Instead, he padded out into the living room. Glancing over, he saw the message icon flickering merrily on the answering machine. Raising an eyebrow, he realised that he never even knew it was there. Normally people left messages for either him or Cuddy on their cell phones.

Pressing the button, he heard Rachel's voice burst out of the machine. _"Hi House! Nana said I should call and wish you a happy Christmas. I know it's only Christmas Eve, but I'll be busy tomorrow, with presents! Nana tried to hide it, but I saw a swimming barbie! You know, this is just as good as Hanukkah. I'm going to ask Mommy if we can celebrate it every year."_ There was a pause on the recording. _"I'm wishing Mommy a happy Christmas too. Just in case she gets back from her trip. It would be nicer if she was here, though."_ Rachel sniffed on the recording. _"Anyway, merry Christmas!" _

House couldn't help but let the corner of his mouth quirk up. He was about to press the delete button, when another voice came out of the speaker.

Her voice.

_"House, it's me. I've tried calling your cell but it's switched off - no surprise there. I'm going to be home about eight, and I've a really shitty day . . . is there any chance you could make dinner? You should anyway, as I've been sorting out your paperwork all afternoon." _He could hear her smile on the tape. _"Murphy's filing another complaint against you. I really wish you'd stop teasing him, even if he is an ass. I'll see you soon. I love you."_

He put his hand on the table to steady himself. He had an ache in his chest.

_God, _he missed her.

He stared back at the machine, with an expression that was a cross between thinking it was a beacon of hope and a mini electrical devil. He assumed that she'd left that message weeks ago, but he'd either never listened or never deleted it.

Still staring, he deliberated listening to it again. Would that be freaky and obsessive?

Just thinking about her, about the way she moved, about her body... he wanted her. He needed her. He was _intoxicated _by her.

He felt a wave of emotion wash over him and his chest started pounding.

She was _it. _

She was everything he'd ever wanted... and everything he could possibly ever want. Just hearing her voice, her saying _i love you. _All the things he might not ever hear again.

He suddenly felt angry. How _dare _anyone do this to her? And to him? How _dare _someone come and ruin something so special? The _only thing _in his life that had any meaning to him. House reached over and grabbed the nearest thing - a lamp - and prepared to throw it. Just as he was about to let go, his phone rang.

Staring at the caller ID, House saw Wilson's name flash on screen. "What?" He snapped, chucking the lamp on one side of the couch while sinking down on the other.

"You have any plans for today? Or tomorrow?" Wilson asked, and House could hear his teeth chattering. House assumed he was on some ridiculous Christmas chase for some limited edition sparkly what-nots.

"Lots," he replied laconically.

"Why don't you spend it with me and Sam?" He asked.

House grimaced. "She come up with that?"

There was pause. "House... she's sympathetic. She likes Cuddy, and she does like you too. She understands that no one should be alone on Christmas. And while I suggested it, she was on board. We'd love to have you here."

House deliberated. "Sorry buddy, got a bottle of bourbon and a stack of internet porn with my name on it."

"When was the last time you spent Christmas like that?" Wilson asked, and House could practically hear his raised eyebrow.

"Hmmm... must be five years ago?" House played along. He knew full well that he hadn't spent the holidays alone since him and Cuddy weren't together.

"House - "

"It'll be nice to have some time to myself," House lied. "Usually Cuddy's coming on to me and the kid's screeching... makes for some exhausting holidays. See ya."

"You're welcome anytime," Wilson said.

House hung up.

* * *

Cuddy lay still.

Her head was throbbing, her limbs were shaking, her hair was matted with blood. There was barely an inch of her that didn't have a cut or bruise of some kind on it. Her face was swollen and she could barely see.

Her vision was hazy and she felt nauseous.

Part of her thought she was dying.

Part of her told her that she was going to be fine.

Part of her hoped that she would die.

It wasn't like she wasn't trying. She had no idea how long she'd been here, but it was long enough. Hell, a second had been long enough. There just wasn't a day that wasn't filled with some sort of pain.

He would come every day. Sometimes he would sit with her, stroke her hair, ask her about her life. Sometimes, he cried, apologising over and over.

Other times his eyes would glint with malice and he'd go straight for her, beating her and hitting her and attacking her... hurting parts of her that she wasn't even sure existed. At first, she'd tried to fight him off but now - as he gave her barely any food - she physically didn't have the energy.

Every time he came to her, she'd vow to be strong. Every time she heard the door open, she'd make a silent promise to herself that this time would be different. When he went to drive her legs apart she'd clamp them together and hold them locked, so he couldn't touch her.

As his hand wrapped around her throat, she struggle and his hand would slip. She'd bite it, and draw blood.

But, of course, this never happened. She'd see the scuffed front of his boots come into view and her heart would start to pound, her stomach would feel like it was falling out her ass, and her eyes would start clouding over.

It was just... _so _scary.

She'd never known pain like this. She'd never known that the squeak of a floorboard overhead could trigger such fear. She'd never known that feel of a man's hand creeping along her inner thigh could result in revulsion.

Every time he took her, she'd close her eyes. It wasn't like how they described it on those lame made-for-tv-movies... all blank stares and drifting into a "happy place"... she remembered every, tiny, violating detail.

She'd been _raped. _

Just the knowledge that this was always going to be a part of her made her want to be sick. She'd seen girls in the clinic and in the ER who'd been through this. She'd felt horrible... how could anyone do that to a woman?... but after they'd left she'd felt a little beacon of hope. They'd get help, but they would eventually rebuild their lives.

It wouldn't always been in the forefront.

But now, after having experienced it, the knowledge that she would _never _forget this haunted her. This, this memory, would always be in her brain.

She would live with this for the _rest of her life. _

All the things she did with House, for House, that House did to her... would they be tainted? Would she ever feel truly aroused ever again, without that pit in the bottom of her stomach? Would she live long enough to find out?

The questions surrounded her, shouting at her. Screaming, even.

_Why couldn't you protect yourself? _

_Why wasn't House there to protect you? _

_Is Rachel okay? Can she survive, without a mother? _

_Will I survive at all? _

_Why did this happen to me? _

She wanted to shout, "I don't know!" at the top of her voice. But then _he'd _come down, and shout at her. She heard his footsteps above her, creaking open the basement door.

She took a deep breath, made her vow, and shut her eyes.

* * *

House took a deep breath before opening the door, not quite believing that he was about to do this.

He couldn't... but he needed to be someone else for a moment. Someone who's life wasn't falling apart like this.

This was a rash choice, he knew that. But that morning, after he'd got off the phone with Wilson, he'd gone straight to his bedroom and searched for the little box he kept hidden at the back of his wardrobe.

Vicodin.

He'd held the tiny white pills in his hands, feeling their weight. No one would be over to see him for days, no one would ever know if he had just one . . . but deep down, he knew that it wouldn't be just one. He'd feel the pain lift, and as it started spreading through him again he'd take another one.

And another.

And then Cuddy would be found and instead of being there for her when she needed him most, he'd be in rehab. When the woman he loved was dealing that hardest times in her life, he'd be the son of a bitch who made her do it all alone.

He could _never _be that person to her.

So he slumped down on the couch, cursing. What could he do to run away from himself? To not be the man with his girlfriend's daughter depending on him? With the mother-in-law who hated him as she blamed?

What he wanted more than anything right now was to have Cuddy in his arms, to bury himself in her neck, and to get lost in her.

Well, he couldn't do that. But he could get lost in someone else.

The doorbell rang. He got up and answered it woodenly. The beautiful girl was standing on the other side, a peppy smile on her face. She gave an encouraging look.

House stiffened. "Come in," he beckoned.

"James?" She asked first. "You're James Wilson, right?"

House nodded. That was the name he'd given when he called. "That's me."

Being anything, anyone, in that moment would beat being Gregory House.


	6. Chapter 6

House sat on the edge of his bed, rolling a dime in his fingers.

"Just relax," the nameless girl said, running a smooth hand down his back. "James, it's okay."

He gave a tight nod, but didn't move. He kept rolling the coin, feeling the cool smooth metal tracing his fingertips. "You should leave," he said suddenly, without turning round.

She sat up, brushing a curl out of her eyes. "What? James, are you sure?"

"Yes," he snapped.

"If you just lay down," she continued, "let me show you how - "

"No," he said coldly, pushing her hand off his thigh. "I changed my mind. Get out of my house."

"James..."

"_Out_."

"Oh... okay," she said nervously. "I'll just... go, then."

"You do that," he snarked.

As she pattered around the bedroom, retrieving her shirt and doing up all the buttons, House stared at the space on the bed where she'd been lying.

She'd been lying on Cuddy's side.

And even though he hadn't slept with her, he'd still had another woman in his bed.

Of course, he rationalised, he hadn't done anything wrong. Yes, he may have come close to doing something _really _bad, but he hadn't. There was nothing for him to feel badly about... though he couldn't shake that lingering feeling.

Everything that was happening right now was unsettling him. It was making him feel things that he'd never thought he would. Normally, as long as he hadn't slept with her, he'd say that having a beautiful young girl half-naked in his bed was fine, regardless of whether he was dating or not.

But now... he kept staring at Cuddy's space, and felt bad for even considering it.

She'd been gone a month - not gone, _taken _- and he'd nearly cheated? What kind of a sick, undeserving man did that make him?

He heard the front door slam and he let out a breath - not quite believing how close he'd come to making a _huge _mistake. His breaths came out in ragged puffs. Feeling a little light headed, he reached over for his phone.

"Wilson?"

"Yes?"

"I'm coming over."

* * *

"Sam?" Wilson called from the bedroom to the kitchen, "we're going to have a guest."

"Oh, James," Sam sighed. "It is Christmas, you realise? We don't need Scrooge dampening our spirits."

Wilson glanced around the room incredulously, eyeing the vast amounts of tinsel and baubles and the enormous 11ft tree that only just fit into the living room and had taken four guys to carry. He raised an eyebrow. "I don't think even the Grinch himself could steal Christmas from here." He quipped, and Sam swatted him good-naturedly.

"I thought he said he didn't want to come, anyway," Sam continued, stirring the sauce in the pan.

"He did. He just called back and said he was coming over," Wilson shrugged. "I am worried, Sam. You know House... you know what he's like. Cuddy balances him out and she keeps him sane. Not only is she not here to do that, the reason she's not here is making him even more insane. _And _Cuddy's mother's moved in with him, _and _he has to look after Rachel..."

"I get it," Sam sighed. "I've understood, and I think you should be there for him. It's just... what do I say to him? He doesn't like me already, and now I'm going to have to tiptoe around him. He must be like a lit fuse."

"He's fine," Wilson replied after a moment's thought. "He's a little in his own head and he's working like a crazy person but he seems okay. I'm sure he'll be fine when he gets Cuddy back."

Sam put down the spatula and turned to James diplomatically. "James, do you really think that's going to happen? You told me what the police told House, about the others. What make you think that they'll find her when they couldn't find anyone else?"

Wilson paused. "She's my friend too. And she's everything to House. I can't sit here with the mentality that she's not coming back."

Sam opened her mouth and looked as if she was going to say something, but then the doorbell rang. Wilson got up and let House in; he looked terrible, Sam noticed. She'd barely seen the man in weeks, maybe once since Cuddy was abducted and that was only in passing.

Now she really got a chance to see him. James had been telling her that he was feeling a little down, but he'd made it seem like House was handling it just fine. Seeing him now, in the flesh, and Sam thought that maybe James saw him too often to notice a difference. House looked... worn out.

"Sam," he nodded to her, flopping down at the table.

"House," she nodded back.

There was an awkward silence, then Wilson clapped his hands. "Beer, anyone?"

"God yes," House replied. "Might as well bring the six pack," he added as an afterthought.

Wilson shook his head but brought it anyway, raising his eyebrows when House chugged his first can in barely thirty seconds. He flashed Sam a meaningful look.

"Uh... I'm just going to... call my mother," Sam said, as if the words were being drawn out of her. "To wish her a happy Christmas. I'll be in the bedroom," she finished, grabbed the landline, and took off.

Wilson sank down across from House and popped open a can. "How you holding up?"

House took a breath. "Great. Feeling like a fourteen year old girl with PMS who's boyfriend just dumped her and who nearly slept with a prostitute an hour ago, so... great."

"Woah woah," Wilson put his hands up in a 'stop' gesture. "You nearly slept with a prostitute?"

"Yeah. It's alright, I gave her your name."

"This is serious," Wilson pressed on, ignoring House's comment. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "I was lonely."

Wilson opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. He realised that there was more to this story, and he was going to have to be careful in going about it. "I know you miss Cuddy, but - "

"Do you? Really? Are you _moronic _enough to honestly think that you _understand _how this feels?" He stared Wilson right in the eye. "You've never had this. Yeah, sure, Amber, but she just _died. _That was it. Not only was it quick but you got to say goodbye. I've spent the last month thinking that the last words I said to her were _Thank God you don't see patients, cause the mortality rates would sky rocket. Better you stick to what you're good at, whining and making bad decisions._"

He broke off. "_That _is what she's going to remember when she thinks of me. Five years, and that's how we end things."

"Don't do that to yourself," Wilson intercut, "because you know that not how it's going to happen - is happening. Cuddy knows you love her, regardless of what you might have said. I doubt she was even mad at you. Now _you're _obsessing over one comment, when truthfully, you guys have been together long enough that she probably just brushed it off."

House nodded, but still looked utterly miserable.

"It's going to be okay," Wilson ventured cautiously.

House flashed him a glare. "Shut up. Don't spout drivel."

"Regardless of _what _happens, eventually it will be okay," he repeated, ignoring the black look House continued to give him.

"What if she," House swallowed, "dies?"

There was an unspoken moment of silent communication between them. Wilson knew that he couldn't say that that would be okay, and House knew that he was asking a difficult question, and that Wilson would do his absolute best to respond.

"Then it will be incredibly sad," Wilson said carefully, "and painful. But, you'll find a way to survive."

"Can't do it." He said stubbornly, shaking his head like a toddler.

"You'll have to," Wilson replied.

"Don't _want _to," he edited.

"Let's not make any decisions. The police are searching, they're doing all they can. I know that they're not coming up with much at the moment, but they're doing everything can and you know they're going to work so hard to get her back. I know she's everything to you... but they are trying. They'll find her." Wilson said.

"Did you know that the other women were killed after two months? Cuddy's been gone for five weeks... I know math is hard for you, but that means they've got three weeks left until this more likely becomes a murder investigation."

"This might be different," Wilson alternated. "She might be found, or alive for longer. You don't know where she is or who she's with. Things could change."

"Change is an illusion. People don't change, minds don't change, and things don't change. If she isn't found in three weeks, we might as well give up."

"That's a little morbid..."

"What about this situation _isn't_? This stuff doesn't happen in real life... or at least it shouldn't. We're talking talking dark shit here, Wilson. She's alone, who knows where, and no one is helping her. Don't talk to me about morbid." House stopped, feeling the anger well up inside him.

He felt completely _helpless. _

This is what he did, he helped people when no one else could. He always had that magic answer to make everything okay, to fix everything. While he often didn't see it that way, his patients usually did. They got their lives, their health back. Their family didn't lose a daughter/son/father/mother etc... he knew he was unhelpful, he knew he was unorthodox, but still... he saved lives. People on this planet were alive because of him. He didn't believe in karma, or divine intervention, or the universe keeping a score, but... he couldn't but wish someone or something was keeping track, and knew he didn't deserve this.

He'd have been happy to take on this responsibility himself, but he didn't know what to do. If he thought it would help, he would knock down every door in the city, he would question every person in the tri-state area. But he knew it wouldn't. He understood that there was very little you could do in this situation.

So he had to pretend that the was okay with how it is was going, with how the police were handling it. He had to pretend every minute that this wasn't eating away at him.

"I'm so sorry, House," Wilson murmured.

"Me too." House replied, opening another drink.

* * *

_One Week Later_

House flopped down onto his bed with a sigh. He was exhausted. He'd had a surprisingly relaxed few days at Wilson's and had found Sam strangely more bearable than before. He'd come home on the 28th, feeling a little more hopeful.

Then Rachel and Arlene had come back.

House had missed the munchkin quite a bit while she'd been away. He hadn't realised it, but even though they weren't biologically related Rachel had certain mannerisms that reminded him of Cuddy. Certain expressions or tones would give him such a strong flash of Cuddy that he missed Rachel more than he'd thought.

But Arlene had informed him that Rachel had only becoming more upset, seeing her cousins open presents with their parents. Apparently, Rachel had stopped sleeping properly and was now pining for Cuddy.

House couldn't blame her, but still. It was exhausting. He'd spent the day playing the Sesame Street theme tune on the piano for her, playing catch with ball-y, and other tedious things to keep her entertained. Arlene had begged him to take Rachel for day, saying that spending so much time with her was making her ache for her daughter even more.

Normally House would have scoffed and told her to handle the rugrat, but he'd felt strangely compassionate.

Of course, Rachel had seen the photograph on the mantelpiece of her and her mommy and that had set her off into new floods of tears.

Now, at nine, after a tiring dinner and bath, Rachel was tucked into bed. He'd read her a chapter of A Study in Scarlet, and had rolled his eyes when she'd snuggled up to him. He knew that over the last few weeks they'd become closer, but it was still unnerving.

He pulled off his jeans and put on his pajama pants, opting to leave his t-shirt on. As soon as lay down the plush pillows, he simultaneously felt even more tired and completely alert.

His call to the police station that day had turned up nothing. He now knew that cops did have some leads, but were neglecting to tell him unless any conclusive findings turned up. Idiots. After a bout of mild verbal abuse the stuttering officer had told him that they were doing all they could and to call back some other time.

Great.

He began to drift off, eyes closing. Images of Cuddy filled his head almost immediately. He tried to chase them out by replacing them with images of monster trucks from the rally him and Wilson were going to a fortnight from now, but it was futile.

It just wasn't working. So he succumbed to the pictures and fell into a Cuddy-ful sleep.

He was awoken some time later by the loud sobs of Rachel, who had burst into the bedroom, arms flailing and eyes leaking. "House!" She cried, clambering onto the bed and throwing herself at him, wrapping her lithe little limbs around his neck.

_What the hell? _

He jerked properly awake as he felt moisture on his neck. "Rachel?" He asked nervously.

"I... miss... my... mommy!" She stammered inbetween sobs.

House's expression changed. "Rachel," he started, easing her vice-like grip away from his throat to seat her next to him. "Why don't I go and get Nana..."

"No!" She shrieked, flinging herself at him again. "Don't _want _Nana. Want _mama!_"

"I know, but - "

"No!" She screeched again, burying her little face into his t-shirt. "House, where's my mommy?" She hiccuped, shoulders shaking with each word.

"I don't know," House shook his head.

"_Why_?" Rachel demanded.

"I just... don't," he finished lamely.

She opened her mouth to wail again, but he shushed. "We don't know when mommy's coming back, but it should be soon, okay? Just hold on a bit longer and she'll be back before you know it."

Rachel paused. "I don't believe you," she whispered. "You _told _me she'd be home by Christmas. And all I had was Nana telling me not to cry, but it wasn't fair! Everyone else was sitting with their mommy, so why couldn't I?"

House stared into the darkness, feeling the guilt rise up within him. .

"I'm sure she didn't mean it," he avoided. "Come on Rachel, I'll take you back to bed."

"I want to stay here with you," she whispered.

House opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. Rachel was hurting too. They all needed some comfort. "Alright, kid," he conceded. "Just don't kick me."


	7. Chapter 7

"House?"

House grunted.

"_House?_"

He opened one eye, peeking over at the direction of the voice. Sure enough, Rachel was lying on her back and glancing at him warily. She was also pouting and narrowing her eyes a little. House frowned back. He didn't know why she was making that face.

"What?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Do I have to go to school today?" She mumbled, pretending like if he didn't understand there'd be no possibility of him making her go. It wasn't that Rachel didn't like school, it was that she didn't like school _right now. _

Her teacher was being weird and the other kids were acting all... Rachel didn't know how to explain it. It was just different. But the very worst bit was at three pm when the bell rang and school finished. Rachel would be picked by her Nana or Marina, as usual, and the other kids would be picked up by their parents.

Rachel knew that her mommy was a very very important person and had to work hard, so normally the pick-up thing didn't bother her. Anyway, it wasn't like she was the only kid at her school who got picked up by a nanny... but now she recognised that their mommies and daddies were with them, and hers wasn't.

She'd never had a daddy. That was okay, she'd never really _wanted _a daddy. Her and her mom were just fine... and as much as Rachel tried, she'd never really been able to think of House as her dad. Well, up until recently.

When mommy was around House would be annoying. He would hog her mom's attention and complain if Rachel wanted to do something with her. She didn't _dislike _him... she just wasn't sure if she liked him.

But she realised now that he was kind of cool. He could play songs on his piano and he bought cable so she could watch awesome cartoons after school and he was kind of fun to cuddle. He was sort of squishy. But Rachel knew better than to tell him that.

House shrugged. "I guess not," he replied. It _was_ friday. "But you'll be with Nana all day - " House started, but stopped. He remembered that Arlene had told him last night that one of her friends was sick, and in the hospital. She was driving back up to Connecticut for a few days to visit and had left early that morning.

House didn't know if the "sick friend" story was bullshit or not... but he didn't care. Arlene could not come back for a decade for all he cared. However, this did mean that he'd lost his automatic babysitter. "I'll call Marina," he decided, picking up his cell. It rang a few times before she answered.

"Hello?"

"Marina? Hi, it's Greg. I was wondering what time you'll be here to watch Rachel?" House said with false niceness.

"I'm sorry Dr House, but I have another job during the day on fridays. I pick Rachel up from school and watch her from three." Marina replied, and House grimaced.

"What if I - " He started, ready to offer her some extra cash to come that day.

"Dr House, I'm late. I really must go," she hurried and hung up the phone.

House turned to Rachel. "Sorry kid," he said. "School it is."

"No!" Rachel leapt up, so she was standing on the bed. "Oh but House!" She cooed, putting on a puppy dog expression. "Please don't make me go."

"It's school, not _prison_," he teased. "Go. Get ready."

"No." She sat down on the bed and crossed her arms. "I won't. You can't make me."

House shut his eyes and prayed to whomever for strength. He was not about to fight with a child. "Rachel, go and get ready," he said sternly. Not coldly enough to scare her, but serious enough to let her know he wasn't kidding.

Her eyes filled with tears. "But... it's so horrible! Miss is always being all fake nice and I _know _something's wrong. I don't like it! And Madison says that my mommy got sick of me so she left and I said that wasn't true... but then why isn't she here?" Rachel wailed.

House ran a hand through his hair. "Alright kid, stop the waterworks," he chided gently. "You can... come to the hospital with me," he settled with. He could easily dump the kid with Wilson for the day.

"Thank you," she smiled shakily, wiping her eyes. "I'll get ready now," she said quietly, and skipped of out of the room.

House flopped back down on the bed. He couldn't do this. He couldn't be the kid's support system, and he certainly couldn't take on all of the responsibility if Cuddy never came back. He assumed Rachel would go and live with her grandmother... but he felt bad.

She was a relatively sweet little girl, and she was the light of Cuddy's life. House saw Cuddy's face whenever she got home and Rachel ran at her, or when she came over and asked for a cuddle... it lit up. It worked vice versa, too. Rachel loved her mother more than anything in the world.

He put on his usual attire of rumpled dress shirt over a rock tee and crumpled jeans. He picked his cane off the end of the bed and downed three Ibuprofen, hoping to ease the ache in his thigh. He limped out to the living room and saw Rachel putting things in her Barbie rucksack.

"What are you doing?" He asked, startling her.

"Packing things for today," she said defensively. "See, crayons, and a drawing book, and my - "

"Alright," House sighed. "Come on," he beckoned, grabbing Cuddy's car keys off the table. They'd got her car back from the parking lot and even House knew that he couldn't take a five year old on a motorcycle.

He put her on her booster seat in the bag and made sure she was buckled up. Then he got in the front and started driving. They drove in silence for a while, but then House felt compelled to say something. "Rachel, you know that your mom didn't leave because of you, right? Well that's wrong too, because she hasn't _left. _She just away for a while, but it's not because of you." House paused. "Rachel, whatever happens... your mom loves you. Okay?"

"Okay," she muttered, still staring out of window forlornly.

As House pulled into the hospital parking lot he couldn't help but hope she believed him.

* * *

"Morning sunshine," House trilled, opening Wilson's office door. "I've got a surprise for you!"

"House, if it's another - "

"It's not," House cut in. "I have for you... one bored and in urgent need of attention rugrat! Enjoy," he smiled, thrust Rachel into the room and shut the door behind him.

"House," Wilson said, leaping up and opening the door. "Sorry sweetie," he apologised to Rachel, and sprinted out after his friend. "You can't leave the kid!" He exclaimed.

"I can," House smirked. "I have a sick thirty year old who needs me. I can't deal with a depressed child."

"Woah, she's depressed?" Wilson asked. "When did that happen?"

"Hmmm... about the time her mother went missing? And anyway, depressed was an over exaggeration. She's just a little down," he alternated. "Still, she didn't want to go to school, Arlene's gone back to Connecticut for a few days and Marina can't. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Force her to spend the day with the whiny brats who are telling her it's her fault Cuddy's gone?"

"Seriously?" Wilson asked, eyes wide. "They said that to her?"

"What can I say? Apparently bitchiness starts in childhood," he shrugged. "What's the big deal? Take her to the kid's playroom and give her a stuffed animal or two. She'll be fine."

"Why can't you?" Wilson hissed as some other doctors walked past.

"I didn't ask for this!" House hissed back. "But I've been dealing with her. I need a break. It's your turn."

Wilson sighed and rubbed his temples. "Fine," he conceded. "But you need to address this, House."

"I know," he said, as if even speaking was a huge chore for him. "See you later."

As Wilson made his way back into his office to find Rachel, House started along to his office where his team was waiting. "Who are they, what's wrong with them, and why should I care?" He asked, tapping the top of the patient file with his cane.

"Thirty year old female, severe headaches for the past six months, had a complex motor seizure - " Taub began to read, then stopped, looking confused.

House glanced at the file. "It's okay. The next word's a tough one. W-H-E-N..." He teased, but then followed Taub's gaze. Rachel was standing outside the glass door, holding a sheepish looking Wilson's hand.

"Sorry," Wilson apologised, opening the door for her. "But I got a call. One of my patients collapsed at home and I have to run."

Rachel skipped in and climbed up onto one of the chairs. "Thanks Wilson," she smiled.

"Bye sweetie," Wilson said hurriedly, ignoring House's death glare.

"I could be a doctor!" Rachel clapped. "Hmmm... Luspus?" She asked, looking pleased with herself.

The team all stared at her, House included. She shrugged. "I heard you and mommy saying it."

"Um... We could run an ANA for Lupus?" Chase suggested, frowning at the little girl.

House looked at Chase. "Are you insane? Lupus doesn't fit _any _of the symptoms." He looked at Rachel. "Sorry, but that was a _bad _idea."

Rachel stuck her tongue out. "I'm gonna colour," she decided, getting her book out.

House smirked. "You do that. The rest of you, time to play doctor."

* * *

Patrick Ducharme flopped down at his desk and groaned. He was staring into the face of a beautiful forty-four year old woman, who had a five year old and a partner who depended on her. There were people who needed her, and what had he done to get her back?

Jackshit.

He knew that House would be calling soon. It was roughly the time. Ducharme had ascertained from their brief conversations that House was a callous, snarky and calculating ass, but what he'd seen since Lisa had gone missing... that man was devoted.

He was devoted to her.

And it killed him to know that the likelihood of him bringing her home to them was slim. He glanced at the framed photograph on his desk, the one of his own wife and their three children. Just imagining if he was in House's position, or that his wife was... he didn't want to think about it.

He sifted through the files for the hundredth time - as if there was something he'd missed. He could probably recite the files from memory now, considering the amount of times he'd read them. List of previous victims, their ME reports and their details. Their abduction sites, their dump sites... but not the place they were held.

The same place that Lisa was currently being held.

He slammed his fist down on the table and stared at the information again. He _had _to missing something. There was no way this man could get away with this and not leave a _single _mark. Not a fingerprint, not a fibre, not a snippet of anything.

He took a deep breath and started over. First, he looked at the occupations of the victims. Two doctors, two lawyers, four business woman. He stopped, looking over again. He looked into his police database with a few clicks and saw which company PPTH used for their medical malpractice suits. He eyes widened when he saw that one of the other victims matched.

No. It couldn't - it _couldn't _- be this simple. Could it? How had he not noticed this? This had to be a mistake, or a coincidence. Him, other officers and detectives and computer specialists had scoured the files looking for a connection between the victims. What... how was this not seen?

He picked up his phone and called one of his closest colleagues in from the adjacent office. "Yeah?" Detective Goodge stuck his head in.

"Take a look at this," Ducharme pointed to the screen.

"Huh," Goodge said. "That is... weird."

"We didn't miss this, right?" Ducharme asked.

"No," Goodge said with finality. "I've had these files checked a hundred times by a hundred different people. We didn't miss this."

"So... what is it?" Ducharme asked.

"I don't know," Goodge shook his head. "But I'm betting we can find out."

* * *

Cuddy blinked her eyes open once. The world around her blurred in and out of focus. She tried to shift an inch, but groaned at the movement.

She had to be dying.

She didn't think she'd eaten in a week at least... but she couldn't be sure. She wasn't taken out of the basement anymore, she was kept in the dark. Just the cold, cutting floor and _his _hands all over her.

She'd tried to escape. Her fingernails were broken, bloody half moons from scratching at the door and the walls and the floor... and any other part of the room she'd could get her hands on. But it was all futile.

There was no getting out.

She felt tears slip down the bridge of her nose and onto the blood smeared floor. She knew she was crying, but she barely had a filter anymore. Tears just... flowed. She swallowed, despite it feeling like she was swallowing glass.

She placed her head back on the floor and curled further into the fetal position.

Then she heard the creak of the door and the beam of light pierce the darkness. _His _footsteps, the sound of _his _breathing.

She knew now what hatred actually was. She'd never really truly hated anyone before... but this, this was pure _loathing. _

He was coming for her.

He turned her over and she winced as her bruised back came into contact with the uneven and dirty floor. She continued to wince, feeling him slam into her over and over. Honestly, she didn't think he even enjoyed it anymore.

Then again, she could be wrong. He did it frequently enough that she doubted it was just for the sake of it.

When he was finished he pulled out and spilled on her stomach. She felt his hand creep up to grasp at her neck. "You know," he grunted. "I could kill you."

She grimaced. What did he mean _could? _

"You also know..." He smirked. "I will kill you."

_When? _

Sometimes, she felt like she'd forgotten the ability to talk. She knew she could, she just hadn't in a really long time. When she was alone it seemed pointless, and when he was here... she didn't want him to think she even registered his presence.

She wasn't going to give him that.

"Oh sweetheart," he soothed, squeezing harder. "It's okay. It will all be over soon."

* * *

_One Week Later_

Ducharme and Goodge sat in the office, dumb-founded. "So... this is... unbelievable."

"I can't believe..."

They'd spent the last week immersed in the files and information. They'd been right when they'd thought something was up. As it had turned out, Ducharme's files were old paper ones he'd been printing himself since he'd started the case two years ago.

However, most of the information was now on the computer. That's how everyone could access it. If you looked at the eighth victim's occupation on the computer then you'd see it was a different company, one that they had revealed to be her previous work address.

Someone had switched them.

After seventy two hours of non-stop work and a team of six people, they'd run through family information, Ducharme's printed files and the computer information. They were now uncovering a completely different picture.

There were links between all of the victims, they'd all either been doctors for each other, or lawyer for each other, or dealt with the business side of each other's firms or hospitals. There was a network that each woman slotted into.

And all this information had been erased from the computer database. That was the thing with the online world... anyone who knew how to access it could change all the information for everyone. And yes, the files were moderated. But somehow... it had been tampered with.

So they were now meticulously searching through the police employment records. It was overwhelming, mind numbing and bone chillingly shocking to think that someone they knew, someone they worked with, could be responsible.

Could have evaded detection, evaded even a hint of suspicion for this long.

As they kept working, kept searching for hours and hours, and then...

"You won't believe this."

* * *

Cuddy couldn't breathe. His hands were gripped around her neck, strangling the life out of her.

_Help me. _

"Don't worry baby," he whispered, bending down to kiss her on the forehead. "I'm here."

_Save me. _

* * *

It was the middle of the night when House heard the startled ringing of his cell phone.

He woke up, rubbing his hand across his eyes, automatically turning to the space next to him. Of course, it was still empty.

He banged his head gently against the headboard. Could he really be assed to go to the hospital right now?

Still, his patient could be dying. He guessed he should answer, even though he was exhausted beyond belief. Arlene and Rachel were exhausting, work was exhausting, _everything _was exhausting. He was _so _tired.

Sighing, he reached over and picked up cell. "Yeah?"

"Dr House?"

"Yeah?"

"We've found her."


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks to babygurl0506 for all her help and input! You're an angel :) _

* * *

House sat bolt upright. "What?" He breathed, not sure if he'd heard right.

Ducharme exhaled. "We've found her, House. She's being taken to Princeton General."

House flung back his bedcovers, heart racing. He began pulling on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans in record time, the phone still pressed to his ear. "I'm coming," he said, while zipping his fly, "tell her that I'm coming."

"I will," Ducharme answered. "Dr House . . . "

"What?" House snapped, coming out of his bedroom and quickly making his way down the hall.

"Are you bringing Rachel?" Ducharme asked, and House could hear the sound of an ambulance siren in the background. She was there. She was _alive. _It didn't matter what had happened, because she was _alive. _They could get through this, they _had _to.

"Uh, no," House hurried, scrabbling around for a piece of paper to leave a note for Rachel and Evelyn. "Do you think I should?" He stopped momentarily.

"I was going to suggest that you didn't," the detective replied. "I know that this isn't pleasant, but . . . she's in bad shape. You need to prepare yourself."

"Yeah yeah," he hurried. "See you." He hung up and grabbed a pen from the sideboard, scribbling a note for Evelyn. _Call me when you see this. It's urgent. _

He wasn't going to give too much away in the note. He didn't know what state Cuddy was in, and he didn't want to get Evelyn's hopes up. _And _she would tell Rachel, and as the detective had said they might need to be sensitive around her. No, he needed to speak to Evelyn first.

He tore out of the house, car keys in hand. He knew that if he took the bike he'd probably end up in the ER himself with a bashed in skull. His hands were shaking and he was breathing faster. He started the ignition and raced off, twice the speed limit.

He hit a red light and drove straight through it. It didn't matter, _none of it _mattered. It was four am and there were no cars. Who gave a shit about the traffic lights? He kept going, faster and faster, racing to the hospital.

She was _there. _He didn't know what state she was in, but he could see her. He wouldn't have to agonise over the possibility of him never seeing her again. There was _time. _He would see her, speak to her, hold her again.

The detective's words had rushed over his head. Of course she was in bad shape . . . he wasn't preparing himself. He _knew _he wasn't preparing himself. He understood that the likelihood was that she was . . .

No. He refused to think about it. He'd be there soon, he'd know soon. He didn't need to hypothesise over things that wouldn't necessarily be true. All he cared about was that she was there, in the hospital.

She was _safe. _

_

* * *

_

Cuddy was wheeled into the ER exam room on a gurney. She was shaking, and everything was a bit fuzzy . . . she was disoriented. There were nurses bustling around her and looking at her, but she wasn't focussed on them. She just stared around, amazed to see another set of walls.

It had been such a blur. One second she was on her back, having the life choked out of her, and the next there was bashing and shouting and the police rushing in from all angles. There'd been the strangled cries as they'd handcuffed _him _and led _him _away.

The ambulance had been bumpy. She'd heard the EMT's talking to each other, and giving her looks. One of them, a young one, was holding her hand. Cuddy felt tears dripping down her cheeks as she remembered the contact.

"Lisa?" The nurse said. Cuddy looked up. "Can you stand up for me?" She asked, pointing to a blank sheet on the floor.

Cuddy stood and watched as the nurse started brushing down her body and catching the debris that fell, dirtying the pristine white sheet. The crap from the basement floor came off and stained the sheet an ugly black. Cuddy lifted her hand to her eyes and brushed away the tears.

"Can you remove your clothes for me?" The nurse asked kindly.

Cuddy looked down at herself. She was in a pair of tiny pink panties covered in blood stains and a ripped shirt she'd been wearing for the past two months. These couldn't be called _clothes. _"Lisa?" The nurse prompted gently. Cuddy pulled the shirt over her head and winced. Her abdomen was vivid purple, from some no doubt broken ribs. She shimmied the panties off with the nurses help and stood exposed on the sheet.

She felt the cold air hit her thighs and she winced. The nurse led her back over to the exam table and sat her down. "I'm going to need to take samples from you," she explained. "First from under your fingernails." Cuddy nodded. "But here," the nurse held out a hospital gown first. "You can put this on."

Cuddy gratefully accepted the help, and exhaled as she felt the deliciously clean gown fall over her body. She lay back as the nurse began taking scrapings from under her nails. "Looks like you got a piece of him," the nurse muttered, and Cuddy tensed. She knew that was good, but . . . it was as if she couldn't feel anything she was supposed to.

Then she felt her whole body tense up as the nurse began taking samples from other parts of her body. She felt the cotton bud glide over the inside of her cheeks and felt like throwing up. _She didn't want to be here. _

The nurse helped her lay back further and put her legs in the stirrups. She forcefully pressed her thighs together, adamant in her own head not to let the nurse touch her. "Lisa," the nurse soothed, "I need to check for semen and see if there is any damage."

Cuddy nodded, and gently relaxed her thighs. She mentally scolded herself. _Of course _this woman was only helping her. She was refusing help from the people who sole purpose it was to make sure she was okay. A few tears leaked out as the nurse started, but she held herself together. She _could _do this. Hundreds of women did this every day. But even after this, as the nurse touched her, a part of her that was badly torn, she couldn't help but cry out. "That hurts," she said clearly, starting to sob. Her voice sounded alien.

"I'm sorry," the nurse said, stroking her hand. "Sweetheart, I'm afraid you're going to need stitches. I'll give you some local anaesthetic before I start."

Cuddy merely nodded. She was past caring at this point. The nurse just kept working, mending. Cuddy glanced back to her hand. "Has . . . anyone called my family?" She asked quietly, coughing gently to try and remove the hoarseness from her voice.

"I believe the detectives have," the nurse replied. "I'm sure they're on their way."

Cuddy accepted that, and lay back. The local anaesthetic had numbed her so she couldn't feel anything, and the minutes ticked away as the nurse repaired. Finally, mercifully, she looked up. "All done. You okay?"

That was a loaded question. "I'm fine." Cuddy replied tightly. "Just fine."

"I'm going to suture your face," the nurse explained, pulling up a stool. "And then someone is going to come and take pictures, for evidence. I'll then give you an STD panel, the AIDS cocktail and the morning after pill. Then we'll take you to your room."

"I don't need to stay," Cuddy scoffed lightly.

"We're going to keep you here for a few days, just for observation. The laceration on your scalp looks quite deep too, so you'll need a CT scan to check for concussion. It's just better if you're here." The nurse continued to explain gently.

Cuddy winced as the nurse injected the lidocaine into her cheek. "Will the police need to talk to me?"

"I assume so," the nurse said slowly, focussing on threading the needle in and out of Cuddy's face. "But they might wait. Until we have you upstairs." Cuddy just nodded, as if her head was on a spring mechanism.

Everything blurred together after that. The drugs, the pills, the excruciatingly detailed photographs taking in every bruise, every cut, every part of her that was some how damaged. That took that longest, and was the most devastating

"It'll all be over soon," the nurse soothed.

Cuddy felt her heart beat faster. _It'll all be over soon. _She knew that line. "Hurry," she urged. "Please hurry," she pleaded, tears dripping over her swollen cheeks and her whole body starting to shake. She managed to hold it in until the photographer had taken one more photograph, but then she just started to cry. Her eyes burned from crying and her head ached, her chest ached, her whole body ached.

"Come on," the nurse started to push the gurney. "We'll take you to your room."

She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be home. But not like this. She wanted none of this to have happened, she wanted everything to go back to being the way it was.

But nothing would ever be the same again.

* * *

House tore into the ER waiting room, and limp-ran to the front desk. He'd forgotten his cane. "Where is she?" He panted.

"I'm sorry sir, who are you looking for?" The weary receptionist asked.

House didn't give a shit that she was tired, that it was four am, or anything. He needed answers. "Lisa Cuddy," he demanded, slamming his fist on the counter. "Brought in recently . . . ? Ring any bells? Come on!" He roared.

"Doctor House!" A voice came from down the hall. House whipped round and saw Ducharme striding toward him. "Over here," he beckoned. House took off, moving as fast as he could to get to him.

"Where is she?" House pressed. "What room?"

"I'll take you there," Ducharme promised. He presses the elevator button and they got in. "House, they've done an evidence collection. I'm going to tell what they've found and what we can see. I know I said this before, but you do need to prepare yourself. She's . . . hurt."

"What happened to her?" House asked, but timidly compared to his earlier method of question asking.

Ducharme took a breath. "She has multiple facial lacerations, suggesting extensive beating. The cuts extend down her body and there is significant bruising all over her. Three of her ribs are broken. On her forehead, arm and abdomen there were deep cuts that required stitches." He took a breath. "There is also evidence of multiple violent sexual assaults."

House stiffened. He shut his eyes and leant his head back against the elevator wall. There was a moment of tense silence, in which Ducharme stared at House. House did nothing. After another moment Ducharme tried, "Dr House?"

"This is what's going to happen," House cut in. "You're going to tell me her room number. Then, when the elevator stops, you're going to get out. You're going to walk down the hall, and leave me to find her, on my own. Am I clear?" House said.

He said quietly and evenly, and Ducharme felt a chill run through his body. This man was intimidating. "Of course." He said tightly. "She's in 122."

House nodded, but didn't say anything. The elevator doors opened. Ducharme exited. He was about to walk off, when he whipped round to face House. "No matter what she says, or does, or looks like, just remember . . . it's still her."

House froze and still said nothing, but as Ducharme walked off, he knew that House had heard him.

House took a few steps out of the elevator and sank down onto a plastic chair, and placed his head in his hands. _Everything _he'd been afraid of had come true. This was no longer a possibility, it was a _reality. _He was so _angry. _

Someone had touched her. Someone had beat her and cut her and . . . _raped _her. How _dare _someone do that? If House ever, _ever _got his hands on this guy . . .

House clenched his hands into fists by his sides. He was seething. He couldn't see anything but red. He knew that room 122 was just around the corner, that _she _was just around the corner, and yet . . . he couldn't go in like this.

He couldn't scare her.

He let his breath come out in ragged puffs, feeling his pulse quicken. He stood up and started walking, hoping that the anger was dissipating. He felt himself even out, become calmer . . . but he was still livid. But he had to be there _for her. _He _wanted _to be there for her.

He stood outside the door, and pushed it open.

As soon as he saw her he wanted to cry.

She looked gaunt, and damaged, and hurt. Her face was swollen and littered with bruises. There was a cut on her forehead, and her cheek, and her lip. Her arms were both bandaged but he could see her hands. Her fingernails were scratched away and her skin was blemished. Around her neck he could clearly see handprints.

Before he met her eyes, he turned round to shut the door . . . just so he could stop looking.

It hurt too much.

Cuddy felt her eyes fill when she saw him. He was here, she was here . . . oh she loved him, oh she'd missed him. Her body suddenly filled with mixed emotions . . . but mainly, she was relieved. She needed him right now, more than she'd ever needed anyone. She saw him enter, scan her, and turn around. Turn away from her.

"House?" She said softly. It was eerily quiet. He said nothing, and stayed faced toward the door. "House?" She repeated.

He slowly rotated to face her. He stood for a second, just watching. Then he limped over, pulled out a chair and sat down. They stared at each other, that gaze telling both of them more than a hundred words could. Cuddy saw House's face contract with one of unhappiness, and House saw Cuddy's expression change to one of pain.

Cuddy suddenly pursed her lips. "Where's your cane?" She asked.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Forgot it."

"Your leg must hurt," she voiced, as she knotted her hands in her lap.

House paused. "Not as much as you do."

Her lip quivered and her eyes filled. She began to hyperventilate, her breath coming out faster and faster. "Oh, House," she said hoarsely, eyes wide and petrified. "Oh . . . oh no . . . " She sobbed. She cried harder, her shoulders wracking with each sob.

House was motionless. He wasn't sure what to do . . . about contact. What was too much? But he could see her crying, and he could see that she was in pain in every way imaginable. And he knew that he had to comfort her, in _some way. _She needed him.

He reached out and took her hand.

Immediately, she squeezed it back. Her own bruised hand gripping his for dear life, she let herself cry . . . and it was killing House to watch. She was . . . hurting _so _much. He suddenly needed her to know so many things. "I love you," he blurted out.

She looked up, eyes streaming. "I love you too," she choked out. "House . . . oh, House . . ."

"It's okay," he said lamely. "I'm here. I've got you."

She looked up, the sobs suddenly stopping but her eyes still streaming. "You do, don't you?" She whispered, placing her other hand on top of their clasped ones.

He reached out and wiped away some of her tears. "You can do this," he told her.

She was still breathing fast and the tears were still flowing, but she had regained a little control. "I can do this," she repeated, eyes fixed on him. "I _can._"

"I know," he said quietly. "And I'll stay here with you, okay? I'm not gonna leave you alone. I'm not going to let anyone . . . hurt you again. And that's . . . I mean that. I'm sorry," he admitted. "I'm so sorry."

He knew that it wasn't necessarily his fault, and that he technically hadn't done anything wrong, but . . . he did feel sorry. _So _sorry.

"You don't have to be sorry," she told him. "You just . . . stay. Right there. Holding my hand."

He gripped her hand tighter. "I'm not going anywhere."


	9. Chapter 9

Cuddy lay back against the starched pillows of the hospital bed and wiped her eyes. She took a deep breath and looked back at House, who was just staring at her. "Stop doing that," she said quietly.

"Doing what?" He asked, equally quietly, while running a thumb across his cheek.

"Staring at me like that," she answered.

"I'm not staring at you," he said.

"You _are,_" she said shakily. She dropped his hand and curled over into the fetal position, but still facing him. She glanced up at him once more before closing her eyes.

"Are you gonna try and sleep?" He bent down to whisper.

"No." She replied shortly. She didn't elaborate, and House didn't dare push her to say anymore. She looked so . . . injured. He felt bad about making her even be conscious.

"The detectives will be here soon. You're . . . going to need to tell them what happened." House told her, stroking her thumb. "It shouldn't take too long."

She didn't open her eyes, but raised her eyebrows, as if she didn't believe him. He leaned back in the chair and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. He didn't want this to happening, he didn't want this to be _them. _He hated seeing his beautiful, strong-willed, kick-ass girlfriend all beaten up and broken.

All he wanted to do was lie next to her and hold her . . . but he had a feeling that that wouldn't be appreciated. In fact, he'd probably scare the life out of her.

Someone had made her like this. Someone had done this to her . . . someone had taken her away from him. This wasn't her, this wasn't what she should be like. He let out a forceful breath and sank further back in the chair. Cuddy opened her eyes. "What's wrong?" She asked.

House looked at her, and suppressed a laugh. He guessed the laugh-suppressing expression looked more like a pained grimace because Cuddy immediately looked concerned. She tried to push herself up on the bed, but failed, so she settled for being slouched on her back. "House," she said quietly, making no eye-contact, "I'm sorry."

_That _made House sit up. "What?" He said, staring intently at her. "What the hell are you sorry about?"

"Just . . . " She scrunched her fingers up. "For leaving you like that. I know it wasn't my fault and I know it's _stupid _to feel this way . . . but I left you with Rachel and no doubt you had to field questions from my mother and the hospital . . . I just feel sorry for doing that to you."

"You didn't do _anything _wrong!" House insisted. "_He _took _you. _You couldn't have stopped it. You're going to feel bad enough about this already, don't make it worse by placing unnecessary blame. _You did nothing wrong,_" He stressed. "Whatever you did to survive was the _right _thing."

"Yeah." She said shortly. "How is Rachel?" She asked apprehensively.

"Okay," House let his gaze soften. "She missed you. A lot. But you _are _her mother and she was stuck with me and Evelyn for eight weeks so it's not any surprise that she wants you back really badly," he elaborated.

"You . . . invited my mother to stay with you?" Cuddy asked, shocked.

"Yeah. For Rachel. I just thought that she might need someone who . . . wasn't me." House explained, and Cuddy nodded.

"I want to see her." She said adamantly.

"Your mother?" House asked.

"My _daughter,_" Cuddy stressed. Her eyes filled with tears. "House, please, call them. Get Rachel here, I _have _to see her." A few tears slid down her cheeks. "Oh my God," Cuddy moaned, wiping her eyes, "what am I going to do?"

"What do you mean?" House asked gruffly, voice thick with emotion.

"How do I come back from this?" Cuddy whispered.

House paused. "I don't know. No one really knows. But if _anyone _can do it, you can. You're Lisa Cuddy, right?" He quirked his lip up at her in the ghost of a smile.

She burst into tears. "Why did this have to happen to _me?_" She wailed. "Why couldn't it have been someone else? Because now _everything's _going to fall apart . . . you'e going to end up leaving me, my mother's going to put me down, tell me I should have been stronger, stopped this, Rachel's going to hate me now because I'm going to be too . . . _damaged _to be a good mother, and then when we get over that one day she'll find out this happened and she'll be _terrified . . . _" Cuddy broke off and let her shoulders heave. "Ow," she murmured, and the crying exacerbated her broken ribs.

"Cuddy," House placed a gentle hand either side of her face and looked straight into her eyes. He knew that this violated his not-too-much-touching rule, but she needed to understand what he was about to say, and he needed to know that she _heard _it.

"First," House said, "Rachel will _not _hate you. She _loves _you, you're her _mother. _And she will be so happy that you came back that she won't care what kind of a mother you are to her - even though you'll always be a great one - and when she does find out . . . you'll explain. And she'll love you even more for getting through it. Second, if your mother tries to make _one _remark about how you handle this, I'll kick her out of our house, or I'll call her up and make her see sense. Whatever the hell she says, just don't give a damn. You are _still _the strongest person I know, easily, and nothing your mother can say will change that. And third," he paused, so she definitely heard this one, "I will _never _leave you. Got it?"

Cuddy nodded. "Got it," she whispered. House noticed her hands were shaking. He took another look at her face and he felt the burn behind his eyes. Just imagining how she got those bruises and what someone had done to her . . . he felt the familiar anger well up inside him. He took his hands off her swollen cheeks and placed them out of sight, where he clenched them into fists.

Cuddy saw his jaw set into a hard line and knew that he was angry. Although his inability to open up was frustrating, knowing what he was feeling wasn't hard. He showed it, with all his expressions and body language: it was figuring out _why _he felt something that was impossible.

However, this time, Cuddy was pretty sure she knew why he was so livid. She was incensed too. But she was also something House was not: scared. Although she hated that man with every fibre of her being, she was still terrified of him.

House was leaning on the wall beside her bed, with his eyes closed. She knew that House disliked - or rather, hated - showing and talking about his feelings, but she knew that he'd would be feeling bad right now too. Because for all his feminist spouting, he was extremely protective of her. Whenever she was in a situation with a remotely attractive male, House would make it his mission to destroy whatever she was doing. And Cuddy knew it was just because he hated her being around other men.

She knew that he would be feeling like he screwed up royally.

"This wasn't your fault either," she told him, and he opened one eye. "Don't _you _go placing unnecessary blame that'll just make this harder."

"It's different - " House began, but Cuddy cut him off.

"_No, _it _isn't,_" she stressed. "You were right. It's _his _fault. No one else's."

"You're small," House alternated, "and he was a man. You didn't stand a chance. Me . . . I could have been there. Don't pretend like those circumstances are the same."

Cuddy felt anger inside herself too. But, this time, not just with the guy, but with House. "Don't you _dare _do this," she warned, with such vehemence that he took a small step back, "you don't get do your "something happened which I feel bad about so I'm going to be an unbearable ass to everyone" routine. This isn't about _you. _Or about anything that happened to you. I _know _that this affected you and I will deal with that, but . . . _this, _right now, is about _me._"

House was silent. At first, Cuddy thought that this was because he didn't know how to respond, but after a few moments she realised. He was . . . sad. No, not just sad, but _devastated. Of course _he was terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing right now. Even after a relatively happy and satisfying four years together House still refused to believe that him, just as he was, was enough for her. He was always making jokes about how she should find someone else, because in the end he would drive her crazy out of her mind - jokes which Cuddy knew were not completely jokey.

He had this irrational belief that he couldn't act appropriately around _anyone. _And sure, he was a jerk, but he was _choosing _to be a jerk. To anyone else this might sound strange and a little disturbing, but Cuddy wouldn't have it any other way, because this way, she knew that House was capable of compassion. She'd seen it before, to her and to others. But despite that fact that when he wanted to be he could be incredibly sweet and caring, he still believed that he would always say the wrong thing when it mattered.

House was insensitive, but he extremely good at picking up on the most apt thing to say. So far, he'd been doing fine with this. She'd been nervous about how House and Rachel were going to react to her, and she was still nervous about Rachel, but House was doing great. Just as much as she could do this, he could do this too.

But with her last few sentences of vitriol, she'd scared him. And now he was petrified that he'd upset her. She pushed down the immediate annoyance at having to soothe him when all she needed right now was to be soothed herself, but after successfully quashing those feelings, she turned to him. "Sorry - "

"Don't." He said shortly. "You don't need to look after me. _I _need to look after _you. _This is about you, and I wasn't _trying _to take that away from you but the words got away from me and you know that I can't _ever _say the right thing - "

"Shut up," she told him, but fondly. It was banter, it was just like them.

Except . . . it wasn't. He was looking at her again like he was scared he'd hurt her. She sighed, then winced as she aggravated her ribs. "_Stop it. _Stop acting like everything you do is going to upset me. House . . . I'm still me."

He smiled. "I know that. I just don't wanna upset you."

Cuddy _could _have pointed out that the likelihood was that he would upset her in some way . . . but she didn't. Instead, she settled with the simpler: "I need you right now. Don't worry about saying or doing the wrong thing, because I don't care. House, I love you. Just be here, that's all I'm asking." She felt her throat constrict and her eyes well up as she watched him digest her words.

"Okay," he muttered. "Okay. I mean, of course, you know that - " But before Cuddy could interject he realised what he was doing. "Okay," he murmured, squeezing her hand. There was a brief moment of understanding between them before they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Excuse me," Ducharme poked his head in. "I'm Detective Ducharme and I need to ask you some questions."

"Oh," Cuddy faltered at the thought of having to recount everything. In fact, she wanted to throw up. "That's . . . fine."

"Okay then. I have another Detective, Detective Robbins, here with me. I thought it might be easier for you to have a female presence." Ducharme and Robbins both stepped into the room, looking ominous in their dark clothes.

"Yeah." Cuddy exhaled. "Let's just get this over with."

They moved closer to her bedside, Ducharme giving House the smallest of nods. Cuddy turned to House. "You don't have to stay."

"You said you wanted me here." He said carefully.

"I meant generally. But . . . you don't have to hear this." She ran a hand down his arm, letting him know that she wasn't testing him and was being serious.

Judging from the apprehensive look on his face, she assumed he wanted to run for the hills - not that she'd blame him. "No. I'll stay," House decided, pulling his chair closer to her bed and sitting beside her. She took his hand.

"Alright," Ducharme started, "I'll start by telling you that we know who he is and he's in custody."

"Who is he?" House said forcefully, as Cuddy simultaneously said, "I know."

"James McHenry," Ducharme told them. "He worked for the force on this case from the beginning, and used to moderate the files. That's how the links were lost and he slipped under the radar. He was fired two months ago, the day you were abducted. He wasn't able to switch the information, and one thing led to another . . . " Ducharme trailed off. "We won't be able to convict him without your statement, though."

"So," House drawled, before the Detectives could ask another question, "she spent eight weeks abducted because of police _stupidity_?"

"House." Cuddy warned.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He was _this _close to punching that _stupid _Detective in the face. Doing all they could his ass. He couldn't believe that even the _police _were so incompetent.

Cuddy motioned for the Detective to continue, and silently begged that the comment would be ignored. "Okay," Ducharme said nervously, "we're going to need you tell us what happened. I'm sorry to make you do this, but you're going to need to start from the beginning."

Cuddy's heart began to beat faster and she knew that she was going to start to hyperventilate. House squeezed her hand again . . . it seemed to be the only method of contact that reliably worked to soothe her, even just a little bit.

"Well . . . I don't remember what happened until we got to the basement. I think I was unconscious. And, uh, he took me downstairs, by my hair, and put me on the floor, and uh, tied me up." Cuddy stuttered. _She didn't want to do this. _

House stiffened in his chair. His own heart started to race. He _desperately _wanted to be there for her, but he didn't know if he could hear this. He didn't think he could handle hearing what she went through in excruciating detail.

"He left me there for a few hours," she continued. "He came back later, though. He said, uh, that we would take things slow." She lifted her other hand and wiped away a stray tear. "But it only took about three visits until he . . . took my clothes off and . . . raped me." She blinked fast, trying to stop the onslaught of tears.

House took a few deep breaths, but . . . couldn't do it. "I'm sorry," he said. He brought her bruised hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. "I just . . ."

"I know," she replied. "You don't have to stay."

His eyes burned and stung. He wanted _so much _to be there for her. It pained him to have to leave . . . but he knew himself. And he couldn't handle hearing this. "I'm sorry," he repeated lamely.

"It's okay," she nodded, and he could tell she meant. "Can you call my mom and tell her to bring Rachel?" Cuddy choked out.

"Sure," he said immediately. He nodded to the Detectives. "I'll be outside."

He upped and left at lightning speed. He barrelled down the hallway, limp-hopping until he was far enough away that she didn't hear him start striking the wall. He knew it was cliched, but he had to get some of this anger out. He couldn't go back into that room and look at her without getting some of the overwhelming rage out.

He knew that he wasn't out of the way enough for people not to notice, so after he'd punched the wall three times he drew he stinging hand back and curled it into his chest, nursing his grazed and lightly bloodied knuckles.

He sank down onto a plastic orange chair and took a few deep breath. He _had _to calm down. All that Cuddy had asked was that he call Evelyn and tell her bring Rachel. If he couldn't do that . . . what kind of man did that make him?

So he pulled his phone out and pressed the number for the home phone. Evelyn sleepily answered after a few rings. He'd forgotten that it was Saturday and that it was only seven thirty. He didn't know why he'd assumed they'd be awake. Then again, these last few hours had felt like forever.

"Greg?" She asked. "Where are you? I thought you were in bed."

"I'm at the hospital," he replied shortly.

"Something happen to a patient?" She asked.

"No . . . I'm at Princeton General. Ev," he took a deep breath, "they found her. She's here."

Evelyn gasped. There was a flurry of movements and then Evelyn saying breathily, "is she okay?"

House didn't know how to answer that. "Yes. Sort of. Not really . . . Ev, she wants to see Rachel. Can you bring her?"

"Oh. Of course . . . tell her I love her, and that we're coming . . ."

He could hear her bustling about and running into Rachel's room. "I'll see you soon. She's with the Detectives right now."

"Okay." Evelyn breathed. "I'll see you." Then she hung up.

* * *

House sat by the entrance, waiting for Rachel and Evelyn. He barely shut his eyes for a second when he heard someone shouting his name. "House!" His eyes snapped open as Rachel threw her lithe body at him. She was dressed still in her pajamas. House assumed that Evelyn had been trying to get there as fast as possible.

"Hey kid," he said, hoisting her up and sitting her on his good thigh. He wasn't usually so touchy feely, but he needed to talk to her.

"Mommy's here!" Rachel squealed. "She came back! I want to see her!"

"In a minute, kid. Listen," he looked her in the eyes, "Mommy looks a little bit . . . different."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Like what?" She asked.

"Like . . . when you hurt yourself. Mommy's . . . hurt," House explained, glancing up at Evelyn's tears.

"Oh." Rachel said in a small voice. "Is she . . . going to be okay?" She almost whispered.

"Yeah, she'll be fine," House replied. "But you need to be gentle. Alright?"

"Alright," Rachel nodded vigorously. "I'll be gentle. I want to see my mom," she pleaded.

"Okay," House said, getting up and take her hand. "I'll take you to her room."

The three of them walked down the hallway, Evelyn trying to make contact with House but him deliberately ignoring her gaze. He couldn't deal with Evelyn right now. No, he needed to get Rachel to Cuddy.

It turned out that they had perfect timing, because the Detectives were just leaving as House turned onto the corridor. "Hey Rachel," Ducharme said, bending down on his knee to talk to her, "your mom really wants to see you."

"I want to see my mommy too!" Rachel squealed.

"Good," he smiled. "We'll need to talk to her again at the station soon," Ducharme whispered to Evelyn and House. "But we have everything we need for now."

House nodded. "See you soon," he answered. "Evelyn," he turned to his mother-in-law. "I think Cuddy would just like to see Rachel right now. She's . . . sensitive. And we need to reciprocate. I'm sure she'll be fine to see you soon, but I think she wants a moment just with her daughter."

He saw the flash of hurt across Evelyn's eyes, but even she wasn't evil enough to go against Cuddy's wishes - they all wanted to be exactly what Cuddy needed right now. "Of course," Evelyn nodded, wiping away a tear. "Tell her I love her very much," Evelyn said shakily.

"I will," House promised, guiding Rachel into the room.

Rachel looked over at Cuddy, who was currently reshuffling her pillows. She froze when she saw Rachel. She exhaled slowly. "Hey baby," she whispered.

Rachel stood motionless for a moment and then burst into tears.

House winced. This was the problem with children . . . they were too honest. He saw Cuddy's face crumple and he knew that she needed Rachel right now. "Rach," he prompted. "I told you she looked different, but . . . it's your mom." He pushed her gently towards the bed. "And I think she needs a hug right now."

Rachel shuffled over to the bed, eyes streaming. "Mommy," she cried, and even after her initial apprehension reached her arms out with a grabby motion like she used to when she was a baby.

House knew that Cuddy couldn't handle lifting a child at that point, so he scooted over and lifted Rachel onto the bed. "Remember," he reminded, "be gentle."

Rachel curled herself like a monkey in Cuddy's arms. "I missed you _so_ much!" Rachel wailed.

Cuddy was sobbing too, but House knew that it wasn't all sad. There was a mixture of relief tears in there as well. "I missed you too baby," Cuddy kissed the top of Rachel's head. "I'm sorry I went away, but I'm back, I promise."

She wrapped her arms tighter around her daughter. "I'm sorry baby," she said again, peppering the little girl's forehead with kisses. "I love you," she said. "More than anything."

"I love you too mama," Rachel sniffed, stopping her tears. It had finally sunk in that she was in her mother's arms again. "I'm sorry that you're hurted," she sniffled. "But it'll be okay," Rachel looked up to her mother's poor, bruised face. "Me and House will make it all better. Won't we?" She looked over expectantly at House.

He met Cuddy's watery gaze. "Of course we will kid. Mommy's going to be just fine."

And although it was interspersed with her tears, he thought he saw the hint of a smile grace her lips.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: _Thanks again to babygurl0506 for her information and help. Thanks darling :) And while I did work hard on this, I can't vouch for it's accuracy, but I can vouch for my own effort :) _

_

* * *

_

Rachel was tucked safely in her mother's arms while Cuddy rocked her gently, whispering soothingly and pressing few kisses to her daughter's forehead. House watched her from the chair beside her bed. His thigh was cramping from being uncomfortable for such a long time, but he didn't dare move away. He didn't want to leave her.

Cuddy leaned back gingerly on the pillow, shifting a little so Rachel could comfortably curl around her mother. House watched the little girl yawn; she'd been up earlier than normal and the rush of feelings was probably tiring her out.

As Rachel slipped into sleep, Cuddy looked at House. "What time is it?" She asked, clearing her throat in the process.

He looked at his phone. "Eight o'clock."

"Oh." She looked confused. "I thought . . . it was later."

"Nope." He said simply. "But it's been a long few hours."

Cuddy nodded slowly, raising her eyebrows. "Was she okay?" She asked, gesturing to her now snoozing daughter.

"Yeah," House replied. "I guess. She missed you."

"I missed her," Cuddy murmured, glancing fondly at her daughter. "I missed you too, House," she continued.

His lip quirked up. "Same."

The door slid open, and one of the Princeton General doctors walked in. "Good morning," she said, coming over to stand in front of them. "How do you feel?" She said kindly

Cuddy winced as she pushed herself into a sitting position, taking Rachel with her. "Fine," she said tightly. Rachel stirred.

"Mama?" she muttered into Cuddy's scratchy hospital gown.

"S'alright baby," Cuddy whispered back. "You can go back to sleep."

"Maybe it would be better if she waited outside," the doctor said carefully. "I need to talk to you, and it's probably better if she wasn't here."

"Oh . . . " Cuddy said. "Sure. Uh, I think - "

"I can take her outside to your mom," House interjected.

"Come back," Cuddy pleaded, almost immediately. House felt a stab in his chest as fear flashed across her eyes.

"I will," he reassured. "Cuddy, I'm coming back. I'm not just going to leave," he squeezed her hand. She gave a nod. House got up and scooped Rachel off of the bed, ignoring her protests as he carried her out of the room.

"Wanna stay with _mommy!_" Rachel whined.

"In a bit, kid," House answered, watching Evelyn jump up as he exited the room. "Doctor needs a word," he explained, handing over the struggling Rachel. Before Evelyn could say anything he'd darted back inside the room.

"We've ordered a CT for this morning, as you could have a concussion," he walked in on the doctor saying.

"I am a doctor too," Cuddy cut in. "I know the symptoms of concussion. I don't have them." She said shortly, glaring at the woman. "I feel fine."

"We need to err on the side of caution," the doctor explained. "There's also a psychiatrist that we'll have you speak with. Over the next few days, they will - "

"Next few days?" Cuddy asked, panicked, gripping the bed rail.

"We going to keep you on a three day psychiatric hold." Cuddy opened her mouth to protest, but the doctor got there first. "You been through a trauma, Lisa. And some people in similar situations can't deal with it, even - or rather, especially - in the immediate aftermath. We need to keep you here so we can ascertain the best way to go."

"I don't need this," Cuddy tried to snarl, but instead it came out as little more than a whimper. House leapt up to be at her side, but she held her hand to him. "_I. Feel. Fine,_" she enunciated. "I don't want to stay, I don't _need _to stay. I don't need to be medicated. I just . . . want to go home, with my family," she brushed away a tear. "Don't make me do this."

"I'm sorry," the doctor said - seeming truly sorry. "But I have to."

"If she says she doesn't need to be here," House drawled, standing close behind Cuddy, "then she doesn't. I can take care of her at home. We don't need to keep her locked up anymore."

"We're not locking her up," the doctor said diplomatically.

"You won't let her leave," House alternated, expression steely. "Sounds like locking her up to me."

"We're trying to help," the doctor said. "We - "

"_Stop it,_" Cuddy stressed. "Fine. I'll stay. But I'm _not _sick, and I'm not _crazy. _I'm not going to be treated like I am. I want to wear my own clothes, use my own things, and call my own shots." She specified, eyes brimming and voice shaky.

"We'll do what we can," the doctor said. "Lisa, we want to make this as easy as possible. I know it's painful, and these next few days are going to be intolerably busy when you just need everything to calm down, but . . . we're here to help."

"Get out," Cuddy said lowly, not looking. "Don't come back until my CT."

The doctor nodded shakily, and scurried out after glancing one more at House's icy glare. As soon as the door had swung shut, House turned to her. "She's an idiot," he said bluntly. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"I want to go home," Cuddy whispered. "I don't want to be in this hospital," she quivered.

"I know." House replied. He had nothing else to say.

* * *

"CT looks clear," Dr Samson told both of them, some two hours later. Cuddy had tried to sleep for a while, but hadn't succeeded. It wasn't that she wasn't tired - she was _exhausted _- but she couldn't keep her eyes closed.

House had instructed Evelyn to go back to the house with Rachel. After he'd explained that Cuddy was going to be held on a three day pysch hold, he'd told her to bring clothes and such back with her and drop Rachel off with nanny. He was expecting Evelyn back any second, and was wondering if Cuddy was ready to see her. He'd tried to broach the topic a little earlier, but she'd brushed him off, and he'd left it since then.

He left his own head to focus back on what the doctor was saying. Of course, it was nothing that Cuddy hadn't said before, reinforcing his observation that the doctor was an idiot. Every time she said something stupid, he wanted to jump in with his own scathing remark and make the doctor feel as moronic as she sounded. But then, he'd glance at Cuddy, and he'd sit back and shut up.

He couldn't bring himself to potentially make this worse.

"We're going to take you up to a room on the psychiatric ward now," Samson continued, and once again, Cuddy tensed. She'd accepted that she would be spending a few days on the pysch ward, but that didn't make it any easier to digest. She was the woman who was always completely in control of her life, and now she was being treated like she insane? Where was the justice in that?

"The visiting hours are from 8 to 8, so Dr House can stay with you until then. We'll have you participate in some group therapy, have a session with the psychiatrist, and a few other things. I'm afraid Dr House won't be allowed to be present for those," she revealed apologetically.

"Okay," Cuddy nodded, her voice flat. "Great."

"Someone will be here soon to take you upstairs." Samson left.

Cuddy cried, and House tried to console her, but in the end it appeared that she didn't need consoling, but just needed to get it out.

* * *

"Lisa," Dr Foster said kindly, "how do you feel?"

"Now?" Cuddy asked, folding her arms across her chest. "Or then?"

She was sitting in the Princeton General therapist's office, dressed in a T-shirt and pair of pajama bottoms. She'd been so grateful to get out of that awful crinkly gown, but had had to ask House to turn away while she changed. She didn't understand it, but she'd had to do it.

House was now outside, probably making a few phone calls - most likely to Wilson. Cuddy was sitting across from Dr Foster, a small woman with smooth chestnut hair twisted into a bun and a creepily inviting expression. Cuddy shifted again, feeling exponentially more uncomfortable around her each second.

"Let's start with now," Foster answered.

"Look, I told Dr Samson. Really, I feel fine," she repeated. "I don't need to be here. I have a daughter, and hospital to run . . . "

"Lisa, you've been through a trauma. You can't bottle those feelings up, you need to get them up. I'm not saying now, it's a learning process, baby steps. But, at some point, you'll need to talk to someone - not necessarily me, but I'm a good place to start. So, how do you feel?"

Cuddy groaned, brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes, and exhaled. She'd been allowed to shower, which had been a blessing. "I feel . . . confused. Not _confused, _but I feel so many things that I can't understand. I'm angry and scared and upset . . . and I'm never any of these things. This is new to me," she finished, testing out how it felt to open up.

"All of this is going to be new," Foster sympathised.

"I never thought I'd be in this situation," Cuddy said hesitantly, dipping her toe in the metaphorical water. "I'm just . . . so _angry._"

"Anger's a common emotion to feel after rape and abduction, but _what _are you angry at?" Foster tried to pinpoint.

"_Him. _And how he just took my life away from me. Who was he to do that?" Cuddy scrunched her fists in her lap, imaging wringing his neck. "I want to kill him. No, I want him to feel like I do."

"You want him to feel unhappy?" Foster alternated.

"Yes. But, not just that. I want him to feel like he's had all control taken away from him." She explained, then sniffed, willing her tears back down. "I . . . "

"Are you thinking about what happened?" Foster said, after a few moments.

"It's all I can think about!" She exploded. "How am I ever going to think about anything else?"

"There are a number of different coping mechanisms that you can use to control the flashbacks," Foster continued. "We can work on them, find the ones that work for you. That is, if you choose to come back, which I sincerely hope you do."

"Why do you care?" She sniffed, wiping her eyes.

"Because you shouldn't have to feel this way, and I'd like to help you feel better," Foster gave an awkward smile. "You only have three days here, which means only three days of mandated therapy. But I strongly urge you to continue some sort of therapy when you leave here, if not with me, with someone else. Our sessions here are short, and preliminary, and we can't work through everything in a few hours."

"I'm not going to flip out and kill myself," Cuddy scoffed.

"I don't think you are. But I also don't think that you want to stay this person," the psychiatrist alternated. "You'll want your life back."

"I want it back _now,_" she said shakily, feeling angry again. "That's why I want to go _home._"

"Do you think you'll immediately feel better when you get home?" Foster askd.

"Yes. No . . . I'm not sure. But I don't feel better here."

"Why?"

"Because I makes me feel like I'm _crazy. _That there's something wrong with me," she shook her head, "I know it's stupid, but they're dictating everything I do and they're discussing which medications to put me on, and they won't let me leave . . . feels like I'm crazy." She let out a sob, but tried to regain composure. "Which I'm _not. _I'm _not _crazy."

"Of course you're not crazy," Foster agreed. "No one's saying you are."

Cuddy gave an absent minded nod, and drifted off into her own head for a few seconds. Foster watched, and was about to ask her question when Cuddy opened her mouth. "I remember everything. When the police asked me what happened, they said it was normal for the memory to be a bit fuzzy. But I remember every detail. It's _horrible._" She leaned back in the chair and squeezed her eyes shut. "Why can't I just forget at least _some _of it?"

"You were held for two months, and your brain had nothing else to focus on. It kept replaying the experience, because there was nothing else."

"_Now _there's something else. It could focus on that, but it makes me see it _over and over. _Every time he came down, I knew what was coming, and even though I know he can't get me certain things just make me flinch and feel like he's coming for me all over again," Cuddy gabbled, exasperated, running a hand through her hair. "It's not even the pain that I remember, really. It's just feeling so _powerless _and so _helpless. _Him taking all that away from me. I'm not the kind of person who loses control," she broke off.

Foster began to speak, but Cuddy continued. "_Every _day. At least, that's what I remember. He kept kissing my head and telling me everything was going to be alright. What kind of sick _fuck _rapes a woman then tells her that everything's going to be alright? Tries to _soothe _me?" She'd started crying.

"Rape isn't about sex. It's about power and control, and that's what he was looking for from you. He wanted to you be powerless against him, and then twisted his view of you so that you then needed his affection. In his mind, you were asking to be comforted," Foster explained.

"I _wasn't,_" she whispered, placing her hand on her chest. "I promise, I wasn't."

"I know, and no one else thinks you were." Foster glanced at Cuddy, then at the clock, making an executive decision. "I think we've done enough for today, Lisa. I'm going to see you tomorrow, if that's okay?"

Cuddys sniffed, inwardly surprised that she did want that. As crap as she felt in that moment, she could imagine feeling worse if she hadn't got some of it out. "Okay," she whispered, trying to sound clearer. "Okay."

* * *

House stood by the hospital phone and dialled a familiar number. "Hello?"

"Wilson?" House asked, as if it would be anyone else.

"House," Wilson said, sounding surprised. "It's 10am. You thinking of coming into work?"

He took a deep breath, creating a pregnant pause. "They found her, early this morning."

There was no explanation needed as to who the _her _was. "Is she alright?" Wilson asked breathlessly, and House could hear the concern in his voice.

"Not really," House replied. "But can you blame her? After everything?"

Wilson sucked in a breath. "Did he . . . "

"Yeah." House swallowed. "He did."

"Oh, House, I'm so sorry," Wilson apologised. "I can't believe - "

There was silence on the phone.

"Are _you _okay?" Wilson changed the topic swiftly.

House chuckled. "_Me? _I'm fine. I'm not the one who spent eight weeks who-knows-where being - " He paused. "I don't how to do this. In our relationship, I'm the damaged, broken one. And now . . . she looks far more damaged than I've ever been."

Wilson thought for a moment. "Well, how does she look after you?"

"I don't _know. _She just _does _it," he stressed. "I _want _to be there for her."

"Is she at home?" Wilson asked.

"No. They're keeping her at the hospital on a three day psych hold, which is _stupid, _as I could take just as good care of her at home," he muttered defensively. "They're making her stay."

"Maybe, it's good for her - "

"It's _not. _If she says she doesn't need to be here then she doesn't _need to be here. _Why does everyone think that she's going to go crazy or something? I can take care of her perfectly, and - " House was cut off by Wilson.

"I'm sure they aren't doubting your abilities to look after her," Wilson interrupted.

"I don't know," he blew out a breath. "She's in a bloody therapy session right now. Probably retelling the therapist everything."

"Isn't that what she's supposed to do?" Wilson inquired.

House shrugged, even though Wilson couldn't hear it. "I didn't stay when she was telling the police. She started talking, and then she said some stuff, and I . . . I just _couldn't. _I couldn't hear _that. _And I'm worried that I'm not doing the right thing, not being there. I already screwed up once, I don't want to do it again."

He looked up, watching as Cuddy left the office. "Gotta go." He said shortly and hung up. He went as fast as he could over to her, now that Evelyn had brought his cane. She's obviously been crying, but she gave him a watery smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Hey," she murmured. "God, I'm so tired," she laughed lightly. "Can't say I'm going to be sleeping much though."

He sniffed. He wasn't going to _cry, _(at least not yet) but he couldn't deny that he felt emotional when he looked at her. The desire to find the bastard and _kill him _welling up inside, he squashed it down and tried to return her smile. Didn't quite work out.

"I'm sure they could give you something," House said.

"I'm sure they will," Cuddy agreed. "They seem big on medication."

They unanimously started walking back to the room, but Cuddy stopped him. "House, I . . . " She started to cry. "Damn it. House, I really _really _want you to know that I _don't _blame you, I don't think you did _anything _wrong. And no matter what I say or do to counteract that, please remember that."

He gave a nod. "You'll be okay. And I'll . . . protect you, or whatever I'm supposed to do. That man won't go free. And whether it's in prison or at my hands he will suffer, and he will pay the price of what he did to you. He _cannot _go free."

"No, he can't," Cuddy agreed, feeling stronger. She had support, she had people on her side.

* * *

The next few days passed in a blur. Cuddy was put on Prozac, an anti-depressant, and Xanax to help her sleep. House did stay with her as much as he could, but - despite his arguing - they kicked him out overnight. The nurses informed him that even with the drugs, her sleep had been fitful, but she _had _slept.

She didn't share much with him about what she did in her sessions. She mainly mocked the group session, complaining about how she got clay under her broken nails in the art therapy or how she wanted to slap one of the group leaders who went on and on about coping mechanisms and breathing.

She didn't say anything bad about her individual psychiatrist, though, aside from informing him that she was coming back to see her when she was released. He wanted to understand better how she was feeling and what she was going through, but every time he got close to telling her that, he seized up. He couldn't bring himself to hear it.

Rachel did come the next day, after throwing a tantrum when she found out House could see her mother and she couldn't. House had watched through the door as Cuddy read to Rachel, as Rachel snuggled into her, as mother and daughter laughed together.

He realised that he was _jealous. _

He was jealous that Cuddy and Rachel still had such a natural relationship, even after something like this. He _knew _that he fulfilled a different need to Cuddy than Rachel did, and that _obviously _they were completely different people in her life but he wished it could be easy like that.

However, he faired better than Evelyn. Cuddy had promised to see her mother when she was released, but had been adamant about not seeing her mother while she was still at the hospital. House understood that one, having spent enough Christmases together to know the tension between mother and daughter and that Cuddy didn't need the added pressure of handling her temperamental mother.

Every evening Evelyn would grill him, and he'd disappoint her with vague answers, not wanting to betray Cuddy's privacy. He didn't _care _about Evelyn. He didn't care if she felt left out, or lonely. All he cared was that Cuddy felt safe.

He walked into the PG Psychiatric unit mid-morning on Cuddy's third day. He knew that her mandated hold was over, and that she would be racing to get out. He'd wanted her to feel like he understood, so he was preparing to whisk her away.

He opened the door to her private hospital room with his cane, surprised to find her packing the small bag he'd brought for her. She jumped as the door opened, but visibly relaxed when she saw it was him. "Good morning," she said stiffly, wincing as she aggravated her broken ribs.

"Sit," he ordered. "Don't hurt yourself."

"I _won't - "_

"You _might._"

She gave a playful scowl. "They said I could leave at lunch," she told him, giving him a relieved grin. "I can't tell you how happy I am to get out of here." She sat on the edge of the bed. "This is probably the longest three days of my life."

"Longer than - "

"_Yeah._" She looked at him, the blossomed bruises covering her face. He noticed she was wearing baggy sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt. She looked different, smaller. She looked like a little girl, one needed to be protected.

He forced himself to blurt it out. "I want you to tell me what happened. I can take it."

She stared at him, then shook her head. "No, you can't."

"_Yes - "_

"No. I've _seen _you try to ask me, and you've stopped yourself every time. I know you, House." She took a deep breath. "One day, I'll tell you. When we're _both _ready. As hard as it will be for you to hear, I'm not sure I want you seeing all that when you look at me."

He sat silent. As he listened he felt his eyes burning. He hadn't cried at all; Cuddy had cried, Evelyn and Rachel both had, he was pretty sure _Wilson _had. He hadn't been back into work, but Wilson called about three times a day, and he always sounded like he'd been weeping.

He felt Cuddy's soft gaze on him. He scrubbed at his quickly reddening eyes, looking up. "Fine."

She gave him a look of understanding. "Baby steps," she parroted, turning back to her packing. "That's what they all say. Baby steps."

"Yeah," he said quietly.

She sniffed, and he knew she was crying. But, in the same way she'd ignored the beginning of his own tears, he recognised that she didn't want hers highlighted. "Can you grab me the medicine from the top of the counter?"

He picked up the two bottles and one packet, Xanax, Prozac and Valium. "Seriously?" He asked, handing them to her. "Valium? They're really trying to dope you up," he joked.

"Valium's only for . . . " She shrugged. "I zoned out. But the Prozac's apparently for everyday, and the Xanax is every night I can't sleep."

They continued packing wordlessly, waiting for the doctor to come in, give them both a last spiel and the long-awaited discharge forms. Samson arrived and described how they could help, how they were all willing to testify, how Cuddy could come back to the facility if she wished. Dr Foster also popped in, letting House finally meet the psychiatrist. She told Cuddy she was glad that she'd opted to continue talking with her.

He watched Cuddy take in all the information, her eyes glazing over. She nodded, but was silent for the majority. He noticed that she freer around him - much more so than with other people, so he guessed that was something. He was glad she seemed to feel comfortable around. That was all he really wanted, anyway.

They were alone again soon after, clutching signed discharge papers. House looked to her, watching as she tried to hide her tears. "Come on," he said gently, taking her hand, "let me get you home."


	11. Chapter 11

Cuddy walked slowly down the hospital hallway, House limping along beside her, clutching her duffle bag. As she bypassed various doctors and nurses, she could feel all eyes on her. It was one thing to be recognised at other hospitals for her professional successes; it was quite another to having people staring at her with pity, no doubt knowing the whole story.

She cringed inwardly when she realised that she knew some of these people. From conferences, or case handovers, or whatever, these people knew her as she wished she still was. Confident, headstrong, and in control. Not that she wasn't these things anymore, but she knew that they were now seeing her in an entirely different light.

Dr Samson and Dr Foster met them just before they took the elevator down to the ground floor. Although there was a garage, House knew not to use it. The car was parked in the above-ground parking. "Lisa," Foster said sombrely. "You should know that the media is all over your case."

House rolled his eyes. "Successful, adult Dean of Medicine locked in a basement for two months. You know that's front page stuff."

Both Samson and Foster looked a little horrified at his blasé tone. Cuddy quirked the corner of her lip up, her attempt to recognise the hidden joke. While he may seem insensitive and crass to others, she knew he was just trying to lift the awkwardness. "So?" Cuddy prompted wearily.

"There's a mass of reporters outside. We've tried to get them to leave - show a little decency - but they won't. Keep saying if they don't run the story, someone else will and that they're just trying to do their jobs." Foster relayed. "It's your choice whether or not you want to speak to them, though of course it doesn't have to be now."

Cuddy nodded. "What . . . would I say?"

"It wouldn't be to a mass, like the one that's outside," Samson explained. "You'd go through your lawyer, and he'll set up a press conference."

House nudged her. "You're good at those," he whispered.

"My lawyer?" She repeated, ignoring him. She hadn't been told anything about legal counsel.

"Mr Frost, I believe," Samson told her. "He's got your statement from the police. He'll prosecute the bastard for you."

"Do I get to meet him?" Cuddy asked incredulously, slightly enraged that all this had been happening and they'd thought nothing of not telling her.

"Of course," Foster said, not picking up on Cuddy's tone. "He'll be in touch. We're not trying to introduce any of this to you yet, Lisa. We were just alerting you to the situation outside, so you weren't ambushed. We can get help to get you out, so they don't get your face."

Cuddy nodded meekly. "Please."

Samson got out her phone, obviously having a team on standby. Then, the four of them traipsed into the elevator, House uncharacteristically silent. "You have another appointment in four days," Foster continued. "I want you to try those exercises we talked about, and keep taking your meds."

Cuddy cocked an eyebrow. "Even though we don't they'll help at all."

"Give them time," Foster replied. They fell into silence.

The elevator dinged. They exited. Both House and Cuddy's movements seemed wooden, and out of sync. It would take them a while to get their rhythm back.

As they walked through the lobby of Princeton General, a few security guards came up around them. Cuddy scoffed internally, deeming it unnecessary, until she saw the mob outside. Shouting journalists and reporters hurled questions at her through the glass, a million cameras snapped the best pictures they could get.

House locked his jaw and gently guided her behind him. She stumbled sideways at the slight touch, too dazed. He held her behind him, shielding her from view.

She swallowed. She could _handle _this. It was a few reporters, she told herself. She'd dealt with congregations of reporters before, their voices just as scoop hungry. She straightened her back, wincing a little as her ribs pulled, and cleared her throat. "Let's do this," she said - no nonsense.

She strode ahead of even House, walking past the security guards. As she went through the glass doors, House following her as fast as he could, she was assaulted by the flash of bulbs and eager journalists. She looked desperately for her car (which House was driving) - regretting her bold walk-out - when she felt House come up behind her.

As he pulled her into his embrace, she knew he could feel her trembling. He turned her away from the flashes and yelled curses at the reporters. "Vultures," he whispered to Cuddy as he pushed through the throng, aided by the security guards. "Feeding off other people's misery."

He unlocked the car and Cuddy leapt in, slamming the door shut. House whipped round to the driver's side, doing the same. He started and revved the engine, making the few people who dared approach the vehicle jump back. House wanted nothing more than to tell them all to just Fuck Off, but he knew then that would be all over the papers, or something equally as unhelpful. He watched Cuddy's eyes dart back and forth, and her knuckles turn white as she gripped the seat.

"Drive," she muttered. "_Now._"

He didn't need to be asked again. He sped off, going straight past the speed limit. Similar to when he'd got the news of her rescue, all he cared about was getting from A to B, not whether he broke any laws in doing so.

"They're idiots," House said. "They have nothing better to do than camp out here, in hope of getting a glimpse of you. They'll leave you alone soon enough."

"I know," Cuddy put her head on the window. "I just wish they weren't here in the first place."

House wasn't sure what to say to that. He waited a moment before swiftly changing the topic. "Your mom is desperate to see you," he told her, reaching out and squeezing her free hand quickly before returning it to the steering wheel. "But you don't have to," he added. "See her, I mean."

"I should," she shook her head. "It's not that I don't want to see her. She's my _mother. _If this happened to Rachel . . . " Cuddy tailed off, feeling the bile rise in her throat at the thought of anyone doing what they did to her to her little girl. "I can't deal with her doing her _thing._"

"The picking on everything you do _thing_?" House chuckled lightly.

"_That._"

"She won't. I told her not to." House consoled. "Trust me."

_I do. _Cuddy thought it, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. She couldn't put her trust into him yet. She was . . . shaken. Her whole world - everything she'd counted on - had changed. Everything was different, including her relationship with him.

He turned into her - _their _- street. Cuddy tenses as she saw the TV vans parked outside. "Isn't there some sort of restraining order I can get?" She asked, to no one in particular. "Or a law that stops them from doing this? Rachel must be terrified."

"I could threaten them."

Cuddy smiled. "I have no doubt you would," she yawned. She turned to him. "How do I look?" She brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. The bruises were even more purple, though the facial swelling was going down. The stitches stuck out awkwardly, and lips were swollen enough to keep her lips in a little pout. She looked awful.

House sighed. "There's no honest answer to that question that I'm willing to give you."

Her mouth opened a little in surprise, then she scowled at him. "I ask you to be honest with me for three years, and the _one _time it's obvious I need you to lie to me you can't?" She hurled the words at him, then jumped out of the car and stalked off. There were only a few reporters and she managed to get passed them easily. Not having her key, she knocked on the door and begged silently that someone would answer quickly.

House was behind her before her mother opened the door. He didn't try and make contact, verbal or physical, and Cuddy realised he was still acting as a shield, protecting her. She felt her eyelids droop - she couldn't deny that there was something about being around him that made her feel safe. Maybe that's why she'd barely slept at the hospital.

Evelyn opened the door, freezing for a moment as she saw Cuddy's face. "Lisa," she breathed, reaching out. Cuddy felt herself being pulled into her mother's embrace. She went with it, stepping back into her own house once more, House closing the door behind them. He watched as Evelyn's eyes filled with tears.

He couldn't see Cuddy's face, and wasn't sure if she was crying or not. He realised it didn't really matter, didn't change how she was feeling. He could visibly see her stiffen in her mother's embrace. House did feel bad for her in that moment; as screwed up as his own relationship with his parents had been, he knew how much Cuddy wished her relationship with her mother was better. That after something like this, her mother's touch would calm her.

House could hear the sound of reporters outside, shouting various remarks. He shook his head. He was a bastard, but there was a line. In his mind these dicks were crossing it.

"Lisa," Evelyn whispered again, and then continued to mutter something House couldn't hear. Cuddy pulled back, smoothing her hair away from her face.

"I know, Mom." She replied. "But I'm fine, really."

Evelyn pursed her lips disbelievingly. "You aren't."

"Mom, why can't you just - " Cuddy started, feeling her heart start to race.

"Ev," House cut in. "_Don't_." It was said a suggestion. It was an order, and Evelyn could see that she didn't stand a chance. Her tenuous relationship with her daughter meant that she had no pull in the house - especially not with House. Evelyn knew that House would just make her leave, and as much as that pissed her off, she knew he didn't care. He didn't strive to be the perfect son-in-law - never had, never would - and Evelyn knew that she could hate his guts and it would make no difference.

"Momma!" The silence was broken by Rachel throwing herself at her mother. Her tiny limbs clutching onto to Cuddy like a monkey, House flashed to Evelyn. She didn't need to be told twice, and went and picked up Cuddy's bag from the floor. "I'll take this to your room," she said quietly, watching as Cuddy whispered to her own daughter.

"Hey baby," Rachel cooed, stroking Cuddy's hair and kissing her forehead. "It'll be okay."

Cuddy's eyes welled up slightly, but that was more reflex. She stared at her daughter - confused as to why Rachel was using an endearment that Cuddy only ever used to her. "You're _my _baby," Cuddy replied, taking her daughter's hand, "_I'm _not a baby."

"I know, but House said you were hurt," Rachel explained, "so I'm doing what I like you doing to me when I'm hurt."

Cuddy took a breath, as the room started to spin. She smiled at her expectant daughter. "That is incredibly sweet," she told her, guiding her to the couch where they sat together. "But I'm a big girl, honey. You don't need to worry about me."

"So?" Rachel looked confused. "Even when I'm big, I'm going to want you when I'm sad."

Cuddy kissed her daughter, feeling such a rush of love and protectiveness. "You are amazing," Cuddy told her. "You were _so _brave, and I am so sorry for being away for so long. I promise, I'm never going away like that _ever _again."

"It was scary," Rachel agreed. "I missed you."

"Missed you too," Cuddy returned, switching so her child was wrapped around her.

House watched them, not sure of how to do this. He knew that Cuddy wasn't completely comfortable around him yet, they didn't have that easy connection Rachel and Cuddy automatically had. He accepted that, fine, but he missed her. He'd spent the last two months missing her, and now that she was home, he still missed her - he didn't have his Cuddy back yet.

That was okay. But he _needed _to do _something - _reassure himself that it was going to get better.

He was jerked from his head by Cuddy poking his arm. "Come here," she implored, giving him an awkward expression. He obliged, sitting down on the couch next to her, accepting her openly as she entwined her arm with his and pulled Rachel over. He realised that she was sandwiching herself between the two of them.

"You okay?" House asked, as she gingerly lay her head on his broad shoulder, careful not to disturb Rachel who was napping. House had been home in the last few nights, and she hadn't been sleeping. Knowing that her mother was only twenty minutes away was driving her crazy. But, now Cuddy was home. Rachel was out like a light.

"Yes," she answered. "I want my Mom to go home, my daughter's comforting _me _and I must slept under an hour the past three nights. But . . . I'm fine." She blew out a breath. "It's good to be back, to my life and all that."

"Back." House repeated, contemplating.

"Everything will just go back to the way it was," Cuddy continued, and House could hear the utter relief in her voice.

"Not it won't," House alternated, bursting the bubble.

"Nothing's changed," Cuddy insisted.

"Everything's changed," House told her seriously. "Accept it."

She swallowed, fear darting across her face momentarily. "Nothing's changed," she repeated shakily. "Don't confuse me, don't try and tell I'm wrong. I _won't let _things change. I'm going to go back to my life, with you and with Rachel. After they lock him in jail, this is all going to be over."

"I _know _you're not naive," he murmured.

She glared at him. "I'm going to try and sleep," she told him, getting up after placing Rachel's head gently on the couch cushion. "Just . . . deal with my mother. Put a movie on for Rachel when she wakes up."

"Do you want me to come with you?" He asks, getting the distinct feeling he's pissed her off.

"No." She said tightly. "I don't want anything from you."

* * *

_Her chest hurt. Not her heart, or anything emotional like that. Her ribs. The telltale bruising was already appearing and Cuddy knew that they were broken. As she moved, they twitched and she winced in pain. _

_Settling on the concrete, she heard the door to the basement creak open. _

_"Babe?" He whispered, coming down the dank steps. "You awake?" _

_She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that he would leave her alone. She knew he wouldn't, but she could only hope. _

_"Hey," he said softly, "wake up." He stroked her hair, and she shivered. "Knew it," he sing-songed. "Get up," he told her, voice taking a sharp edge. _

_"Can't," she forced out, chest throbbing. _

_"What do you take me for?" He demanded. "An idiot?" _

_"I'm telling the truth," she said, through gritted teeth. "I can't stand." _

_He grabbed her shoulders and lifted her onto her feet. She cried out in pain, stumbling down as soon as he let her go. She crashed back down, howling as her sore body came into contact with the hard ground. _

_"Pathetic," he sneered. "You're the worst bitch I've ever done this to," he told her, coming over her. "You know that?" _

_She whimpered. "Please," she tried. "Don't." _

_"Woman like you," he continued to himself. "Probably deserved it." _

"Cuddy?"

Cuddy snapped her eyes open. She hadn't been sleeping - not properly - but she'd been powerless to stop the flashback. Her heart was racing, she was sweating and her chest was heaving, her breaths coming out in ragged puffs.

"Hey," House came over to her, concerned. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." She told him, pressing her lips together. "I just . . . can't stop thinking about it." She wept.

He moved a little closer to her, and he was happy as she let herself lean into him. Her arms sliding around him, he realised she was holding onto him for dear life. "It'll get better," he told her. At her sceptical look, he carried on. "I'm serious. Over time, you won't remember everything everyday."

"You . . . " She broke off. "You have no idea. What he - " She stopped. "What he did to me."

He stroked her hair. "You're alive. Let's just go from there, one step at a time."


	12. Chapter 12

House woke up in the middle of the night. After staying held together for a little longer, Cuddy has disentangled herself from his clutches and lain down, saying that she was exhausted and needed to sleep. He'd done as she'd asked, namely lying beside her but not touching her.

He realised that he hadn't woken up by chance - something had disturbed him. The something being Cuddy vacating her place under the covers. He placed his palm on the spot where she'd been laying, and, judging by it's warmth, gleaned that she hadn't been gone for long.

He doubted that she'd slept much anyway. They'd got home about four, and Cuddy had been in bed by seven, citing exhaustion. After Rachel's impromptu nap had ended she'd wailed to see her mom again. Cuddy had read her a story and House had carried the girl to her own bed - though he'd seen the internal battle raging inside Cuddy. He knew that she wanted to keep her daughter close, and no doubt knew that that's what Rachel would have wanted too. But he assumed she hadn't wanted to disrupt the routine. She'd wanted to make this easy for Rachel.

Evelyn had kept to herself. She'd come in just after Rachel had been extracted and kissed Cuddy's cheek, telling her daughter simply that she loved her. House had stood outside the door and listened, ready to jump in if Cuddy needed it. He'd also checked outside the curtains, the journalists having finally left. House knew they'd be back tomorrow, but he took some solace in knowing that they wouldn't be disturbed in the night.

Rephrase. Knowing that they wouldn't be disturbed in the night by reporters. Nightmares plagued most of the members of the household - the ones who were sleeping anyway. However, these nightmares were unbeknownst to the others. Evelyn would never disturb them because of a nightmare, Rachel was terrified that if she told mommy she was having nightmares then she'd go away again (not that she'd ever tell mommy that) and House was too busy checking on Cuddy to be bothered by his own night terrors.

After looking at the empty space for a moment he swung his good leg out of the bed and padded into the darkened kitchen. He stared for a minute and just as he decided there was nothing there a shadow moved on the couch. He sighed inwardly, and whispered her name to try and minimise the scare. "Cuddy," he murmured.

She still jumped. "You scared the crap out of me," she hissed, her chest heaving.

"You should be asleep," he told her, coming to sit on the couch beside her.

"Couldn't," she replied.

"Did you take the Xanax?" He asked.

"Yes." She said shortly. "Didn't work."

He changed tack. After waiting a second, he looked to the coffee table. "What are you doing?" He asked, peering down.

She chuckled a little, obviously laughing at herself. "Looking through photos," she told him.

"You can barely see them," he pointed out.

"It's not about seeing them," she muttered, so quietly that House thought she didn't want him to hear. "It's about knowing they were taken in the first place. That there were times I wanted to commemorate with a picture."

His heart ached for her. "Cuddy," he croaked.

She turned to him and he could see her bruises. He wanted to kiss them all away while simultaneously wanting to kill the son of a bitch responsible - whether they were happy or sad, broken or whole, she always evoked feelings from him that no one else could.

"What?" She whispered after a second. "What is it?"

It was dark, and he hoped she couldn't see the watery sheen of tears in his eyes. "You are the _only _good thing in my life," he began. "I mean, diagnostics is what I do and Wilson is my best friend but . . . you're something else. There's something about you that's like . . . Fuck, I don't know, you're just this amazing woman who somehow puts up with me. You amaze me, Cuddy. And I really do love you more than anything else. You are _so much _a part of me. And I just wanted to tell you that . . . these last two months, when I thought you weren't coming back, were the longest two months of my life. I wanted you so badly, I wanted to know that you were safe. I want you just to _come back. _And I didn't want anyone to have hurt you," he was looking down in his lap. He hadn't looked up since he'd started his spiel.

"I am sorry," he continued. "I failed you. I know I don't bring much to our relationship but I did think I could keep you safe. I have no idea what you were thinking while you were . . . _gone, _but if you were mad at me because I let him take you, then . . . I guess I deserve that. I let you down, and not in the way I usually do. You're . . . I can see it in your eyes, and the words you use. There's something different now. It's like a part of you is gone. I know it's only been three days and you need time, we _all _need time, but . . . I missed you _so _much. And I'm not gonna lie - about anything - I wish you were fine. I wish that that _bastard _hadn't touched you. It _kills _me that he did." There was a moment of silence. "Not tomorrow, not the day after, not a year from now, but someday I need you to _come back. _I need to know that you're okay. That _you will be _okay."

He looked at her weeping eyes in the darkness. "I couldn't live without you," he said softly.

She met his gaze and interlaced her fingers with his. "I will be okay," she told him. "But I need you to tell me the same thing. Everyday all I thought was you and Rachel. You are my family, I _love _you. I'm just feeling . . . so many things I can't explain. So many things I don't want to deal with. I'm so _angry._" She screwed up her face with tears. "I feel like I _let _him hurt me. That somehow I didn't stop it. I tried, I _really really _did. And then I was out and I forgot how to feel anything."

She looked at him. "It was only when I was having the kit done that it all hit me. I tell you, feeling nothing is better than feeling _everything. _This shouldn't have happened to me. To _anyone. _He took away so much from me; my pride, my safety, any semblance of control I ever had. I want to be who I was. I want to be that woman that you love."

Her tears were falling fast now. "I can't explain how I feel. I always thought that if this ever happened to me I'd be stronger. I'd be able to deal . . . but it's so new, this feeling. Like the bottom's fallen out of everything in my life. I hear a door, or a pipe, and I see that door. I see that_ place. _Something . . . terrible happened to me, I know that. I can deal with it, I just don't want to. I _don't want _this to be my life. I want what I had back," she wailed, breaking down.

House wrapped her in his embrace. "Ssh," he soothed, but she kept going.

"I love you. _So _much. More than you will ever know . . . House, I'm _not _mad. You did nothing wrong, you've been _perfect._" She looked up from his shoulder into his eyes. "Rachel was telling me earlier about everything you did for her. She trusts you, House. _Really _trusts you. You made her feel safe in a time when it would be so easy for her get lost. I _want _to trust you, to help you help me - I just can't . . . not yet."

"There's no pressure," he told her seriously. "No expectations. There's just you. I'm going to try this whole . . . _caring _thing. I know you, I know that you _won't _let this destroy you. Don't be ashamed, don't go to fast. I need you to be yourself again. Your daughter needs it. I don't care what it takes - I'll get bodyguards to stand outside, I'll buy a thousand guns. We could move to the Bahamas or somewhere, where no one would bother us. You'd feel safe," he implored. "Tell me what you need. I will give to you, I'll do it for you. _I'll do anything for you._" He broke off, breath ragged.

As he held her in his arms, rocking her as she cried he still couldn't believe he was holding her again. That she lived, that she was still here. It was so much more than he'd expected, but he realised that he'd been preparing for the news of her death and consequently hadn't prepared for news of her rescue.

He didn't know how to do this. She was _hurting, _she was in so much _pain. _She'd experienced things he could only have nightmares about - and he could see them flitting across her eyes. Changing the view on the world.

She had to survive this. That son of a bitch did not break her.

But as he rocked her, as a father would a baby, he couldn't say that for certain. Her sobs weakened and she seemed to be comfortable just being near him, sharing body heat. She didn't sleep again that night, but neither did he.

In fact, as morning broke the next day, he could only say one thing for certain.

It was going to be a long road.


	13. Chapter 13

"The earliest it would come to trial is November, though early next year is more likely," Patrick Frost - the lawyer - was telling Cuddy, as they sat at her and House's dining room table with a barrage of documents in front of them. Cuddy was just staring at them, glassy eyed.

"How long will he get?" She asked, blinking rapidly to try and wake herself up. She'd barely slept in the two days she'd been home, and it was getting increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open.

"We're hoping 25 to life, which is probable as we have you as a witness and proof that he killed the other eight women. On your front, we have false imprisonment, kidnapping for sexual purposes, multiple counts of rape... and proof of all of that. After he's sentenced, he's not going to see the outside of prison."

"Good," she sighed. "I'll testify to everything," she said assertively, jutting her chin out.

House stood round the corner, straining his ears to listen to the conversation. He knew he was infringing on her privacy, he knew that this was creepy and stalker-ish, but he didn't care. Hearing the words _imprisonment, kidnapping, rape _etc weren't pleasant, but as the lawyer promised that the bastard was going to die in jail, House felt better.

"House?" He heard a voice call, jerking him out of his own mind. He looked around expecting Evelyn or Rachel - not Cuddy, who was pursing her lips at the table. "I know you're there," she said, "come out here."

He shuffled sheepishly out of his hiding place, coming into view. "You must be Greg," Patrick stood and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

House gave a tight nod but elected not to return the handshake. The lawyer looked perturbed, and Cuddy gave House a little frown. He shrugged his shoulders at her. "You two finished?" He asked brightly.

Frost nodded. "You'll need to come to my offices soon, but we can arrange that later," he said to Cuddy. "Bye now," he waved awkwardly to both of them.

Cuddy gave a warm smile in return, but House merely scowled. After the door slammed, Cuddy turned on him. "You couldn't have been a _little _polite?" She chided. "He's helping me, House. He's helping _us._"

"He's using you to get a high profile case," House snarked, flopping down across from her. "All he's seeing is the publicity - the talk shows, the interviews, the book... And each time you mentioning the strapping young lawyer who was everything you could possibly have asked for."

"He's not like that," Cuddy said quietly. "What am I supposed to do? You said it yourself. He cannot go free. Without Patrick... He could. Without a court case and lawyers who's going to lock him away?" Cuddy stared at him. "You can mock him now, but when the judge has sentenced that bastard to life, we'll both feel better."

House breathed out. "I know that. I just don't like his attitude."

"I don't like _yours,_" Cuddy spat. She loved House, she truly did, but the last couple of days he'd been driving her crazy. It wasn't that he couldn't say the right thing, it was that he wasn't even _trying _to say the right thing. He didn't care. About her, about how she felt, about what she went through. All he could think about was himself.

After that night when he'd told her, really told her how he felt, he'd been snarky. That kind of vulnerability was difficult for him, she understood, but... just because he was _human _enough to let his emotions show for once, he had to make her miserable?

_There's no point! _She wanted to yell at him. _I'm miserable already! _

"I have to go back to Princeton General today," she informed him. "I have my appointment with Dr Foster."

House took her hand. "I'm sorry, Cuddy. I shouldn't have... I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she accepted wearily. "We're both going to say some things. It doesn't matter."

"But it _does._" He looked pained. "I can't help you, can I? I'm doing everything wrong..."

"Just shut up," she told him, holding his hand back. "Just stop being an ass and do the best thing. It's not _difficult._"

_Yes, it is, _House wanted to say, but he couldn't. Instead, he picked up the car keys. "Want me to drive you?" He asked, helping her up from the table. He watched her hobble slowly over to the door, grabbing her jacket on the way and wincing every step. Her ribs.

House opened his mouth to ask if she'd taken her painkillers, but closed it. He watched her, letting herself be in pain, and then he realised.

She was punishing herself.

He moved to the bag on the counter, containing her untouched medications. "Here," he passed the bottle to her. "Take two."

"No thanks," she rejected whilst buttoning her coat.

"Cuddy - "

"I don't need to be medicated." She said lowly, but with a tone as cold as ice. "I'm not _crazy._"

"They're painkillers," House explained. "They'll help."

"I don't need them. I'm _fine _as I am," she smiled falsely. "Really."

"You're in pain," he pointed out.

She paused. "I don't think a couple of pills are going to cure that," she said sadly though matter of fact, and House's heart broke for her. She opened the door and walked out, getting to the car just ahead of him. There were still a few lingering reporters but Cuddy brushed them off with no problem, hiding her face as they snapped in vain to get a picture of her.

House put the key in the ignition and they drove in silence.

Even though things between them had been... tense since she'd come home, it was moments like this that let House know he wasn't screwing _everything _up. At least she was still depending on him for something, she did need him to help her.

He bade her farewell as she trooped inside.

* * *

"Good morning," Foster said brightly, handing her a mug of coffee. "Feeling any better?"

Cuddy shrugged, and sipped her drink thoughtfully. "I'm going to kill my mother. And my boyfriend," she added after a pause. "The only person I don't want to _strangle _right about now is my daughter. And it's not like I can use her for emotional support."

"Let's take this one thing at a time," Foster suggested. "Your mother?"

"It's like she's trying to make up for forty odd years of crappy parenting in a few days. Just because of this, I _must _be completely accepting of her change of heart, I _must _welcome her with open arms as the mother I never had and I _must _depend on her as a child would. Otherwise, she acts like I'm ignoring her." Cuddy took a breath. "Which I am."

"Does your mother live with you?" Foster asked.

"Temporarily. House invited her when I was... anyway, she's still here and she's driving me crazy," Cuddy exasperated. "I'm not... equipped for this. I _know _how to deal with an overbearing parent, but not... what kind of mother treats a child like this, after something like this? When she's _whatever _age. I may be grown up, but... Where does she get the right to act like I've... done something wrong?" Cuddy finished, flicking her nails in her hands.

"It's tough for a parent to see there child after a trauma. Recovering from a trauma takes time, and patience, and often the person you are at the end of it is a different person to who you were before. Not a worse person, just different. And for you, the victim, it's easier. You had no choice but to abandon that person, they were taken from you. But for a parent - and a partner - it's hard to let go." Foster explained and Cuddy began to blink faster.

"I _liked _who I was," she stressed.

"But you just said it. _Who I was. _You may not like it, but even you know that you feel different now. You can turn that into something good and make yourself better - but you need to address it," the psychiatrist continued.

"I've addressed it. I've changed. Fine," she relented. "But does it have to be so _hard?_"

"It's like when someone dies. I'm not trying to scare you... but you - for lack of a better analogy - have died. The five stages of grief don't just apply to loss. You'll go through them too," she revealed.

"So... I have to _mourn _myself?" Cuddy repeated incredulously.

"Denial," Foster told her. "Recognise _I feel fine, I don't need help, this didn't change me? _You are denying that this happened and you can't move past that until you admit it and let yourself feel it. The longer you pretend, the harder you'll crash when it hits you," Foster told her gently, seeing the tears welling in her clear eyes.

"After denial, there's rage," Foster continued. "Then bargaining, depression and acceptance. All five there. Could take months, years, but you'll get there. And someone like you - with the strength I _know _you have in you - will emerge stronger. Don't be scared, Lisa," Foster promised.

"Isn't there a cheat? A way to skip a stage or two?" She asked shakily.

"Some people don't experience all of the stages, some jump between the two. But sorry. No skipping by choice. It's up to your mind to decide which stages it goes through," Foster told her. "Time to stop denying," she said to Cuddy gently, meeting her gaze as she looked up. "Tell me what happened. Or, if that's too hard, tell me how you feel."

Cuddy took a deep breath. "Yeah... No. Sorry, not going to happen," Cuddy shook her head and picked up her coat and jacket. "I can't do this."

"Lisa - "

"I can't do this with _you._" Cuddy elaborated. "I don't trust you."

Foster deliberated. "You will. And one day, you'll be able to do this with me. So, _please, _don't walk away for good. Come back, just for a chat. We don't need to talk about what happened. We can just... talk. Until you're ready," Foster said.

Cuddy stood there, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

"How about... three days from now? Friday?" Foster checked her calendar. "Is that okay with you?"

Cuddy nodded. "Okay," she repeated. Then she bolted, shooting out of the room. She grabbed her mobile with her shaking hands and pressed her number 1 speed dial. "House?" She asked timidly, _so _relieved that he picked up on the first ring. "I'm finished early. Can you come and get me?" She asked, pressing her lips together.

"I'm outside," his deep voice came into the phone. "I'm waiting for you."

Cuddy fled out the door and into the car, feeling an overwhelming wave of safety as she saw his face in the car. As the door shut behind her and the noise of the traffic drowned out, she breathed out. "I hate therapy," she told him.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asked.

"No," she shook her head. "House... Apparently I have to go through the five stages of grief or whatever. I hate it, I hate this, but that's how it is. I'm in denial according to Dr Foster and rage is next. House..." Cuddy looked him in the eye and smiled wistfully. "I'm mad at you. I don't know why, I don't want to be, but I am."

She shook her head. "I don't want to feel like this. I'll get over it. But I need you to know that anything I say to you that's bad, or mean... I don't mean it. I love you," she smiled. "And no matter what happens, I always will."

House was silent for a second. "Therapy's a bitch, huh?"

"Totally sucks ass," she hissed.

There was moment of quiet in the car, then they both raised their and eyes and looked at one another. Then, they started to laugh.

Both of them were howling with laughter, the chuckles and heaves rolling off their tongues like syrup. Cuddy started to cry she was laughing so much and her stomach and chest began to hurt, she began gasping for air. She reached out and anchored herself to House.

He was laughing himself, his broad chest raising and falling with every second, as he looked at her. her eyes were shining and she was obviously still pained... But neither of them could care if they tried.

Something, neither knew what, was just so _funny. _

She kept laughing long after he did, and after a while he realised that she was now laughing in a more shocked way. He leaned over and tucked her into his embrace. "It's okay," he whispered to her head, stroking her hair.

She cupped his cheeks. "Oh God," she sighed with a smile, wiping the away the tears. "You are..." She chuckled again.

"You wanna go out for lunch?" He asked suddenly. Her not yet seen bright mood was sure to dissipate quickly and he wanted her to hold onto that feeling for as long as she could.

She cocked an eyebrow. "House, look at me," she gestured to herself, the bruises.

"You look beautiful," he said sincerely.

"Liar," she chastised.

"Seriously. Why do think I'm such a fan of spanking?" He asked her.

"If only I'd known bruises turned you on..." She shook her head. "Not today, House. Take me home."

"Your wish is my command, Empress."


	14. Chapter 14

Cuddy lay on the couch drinking chocolate milk, her daughter sipping companionably beside her. Finding Nemo was blaring out of the TV for the second time that week and Cuddy's eyes were glazing over, as violent flashbacks crowded her brain. As Rachel giggled at the movie, Cuddy squeezed her eyes shut as tight as possible and took deep breaths, trying to get the image of McHenry sneering out of her head.

"Momma!" Rachel chastised. "You're missing it!"

"Am I?" Cuddy muttered blearily, scrubbing a hand across her forehead. She stared at her sweet daughter, using the image of innocence to block the one of evil.

"Mhmm. There's the big shark," Rachel told her sombrely. As the grinning Great White came into view, Rachel squealed - as she did every time she watched this movie - and buried her head into Cuddy's chest.

"Ooh," Cuddy winced, the flash of pain shooting through her. "Rachel," she wavered, "be careful." But Rachel wasn't listening to her mother, she was too bust revelling in her mother's mere presence. As Cuddy's eyes filled with tears, she tried in vain to disentangle the girl from her without losing her temper. It wasn't working. "Rachel," Cuddy growled.

Rachel stopped immediately. That was _not _a tone her mother had _ever _used. Rachel gingerly moved off Cuddy. "Sorry."

"Just... watch the movie, sweetie."

Cuddy lay against the cushions, not realising that Rachel was shrinking away from her. She didn't want to scare her own _daughter, _Rachel had been the brightest light while she'd been stuck down there, the thoughts of her wonderful, sweet, beautiful daughter keeping her strength alive and kicking.

In her defence, she did have a lot on her mind. It had been one week since her release from the hospital and today, Wilson was coming over. House had suggested it. He'd said that Wilson was driving himself mad with worry and was going crazy. Maybe it would do them both some good to see each other.

Cuddy was dreading it. All through her last shrink appointment she'd willed herself to gather the courage to _say something. _But the lump in the back of her throat had held strong as her and Foster had just chatted mindlessly, building a rapport. Just the thought of the well meaning Oncologist made her heart start to race.

Another person, another man, with his strong shoulders and tall stature and penis would be in her home. She knew that House had _promised _he'd be there and she was counting on it. It wasn't that she didn't trust Wilson, because _of course _she did. She just didn't know if she was ready to make nice just yet.

His visit was scheduled for one, so she only had three hours before he arrived. She wasn't worried about her appearance, obviously. Her hair was pulled back by a thin elastic, her face was still a little swollen and covered in bruises, she was hiding her bloodied and bandaged limbs under a baggy Michigan sweatshirt and shapeless grey sweatpants and she could barely walk. The last thing she cared about was aesthetics.

No, it was just that the moment was looming closer and she was terrified. She'd wanted to be ready, if not for House's sake. She could see how unsettling it was for him to be near her - he was obviously hurting but in typical House manner was unable to show it - and she wanted to make some progress for him, to show him the hope.

She leaned over and kissed her daughter's forehead before traipsing off to her room to lie down. There was no rush, no pressure, no one telling her to pull it together, to get back to work. Everyone was shell-shocked that something this... _brutal _had happened to someone they knew. It was like she was surrounded by a ten foot shield.

Just as her head hit the pillow her mother came in. "Come on sweetie," Evelyn cooed. "You've already had a lie down this morning."

"So what? I'm not two. I can have as many lie downs as a want," Cuddy grumbled, resisting the urge to slap her mother and run.

"Honey, I'm just saying - "

"What? That I'm not getting better fast enough?"

"No, but that _maybe _there is a little bit _more _you could be doing - "

"It's been ten days," Cuddy snarled. "Two weeks ago I was chained in a basement begging for my life. Give me some processing time."

Evelyn sat on the bed. "I'm just saying, when your sister had her knee surgery she was up and about almost immediately. Getting active, getting it better. Being as proactive as possible with her recovery. She didn't just lie down and feel sorry for herself." Evelyn stopped. "That came out wrong," she started, but Cuddy was already fuming.

"Julia had a tendon reattached! She had her physio and then she was better. I spent _eight weeks _with that _monster, _and you're telling me that I'm feeling _sorry _for myself?" Cuddy was incensed, lashing out. She'd lost all patience with her mother and was looking for blood. She _had _to get rid of some of this rage.

"Do you even _love _me?" Cuddy continued. "'Cause since I was rescued all you've done is make things difficult! You make me feel _guilty, _and _bad, _and _ashamed. _Are those things you want me to feel, of your doing? Don't you think that I feel like enough _crap _already? Are you _trying _to destroy me?" She broke off, panting, too enraged for tears.

Evelyn sat on the bed, subdued. "Lisa, don't be irrational. You _know _I love you, and - "

"But... do you really c_are _that this happened? Because when I think about if anyone did this to Rachel... I feel like I'm going to throw up. Like, _physical pain _at that thought. But with you, you don't have to imagine it. You have it, you have me, _your daughter, _who spent two months being beaten, broken and _raped _everyday. And all you can do is belittle me. You can't even try to understand, to comfort me, to make me feel like... there is something better than this."

"Every time I think about what he did to you, I feel sick. I _hate _that man, and I hate that you're hurting. But... You may have changed. I haven't. This is the only mom I know how to be. I will try anything for you, Lisa, but it's not instinctive. Help me help you," she pleaded.

"I don't have the _energy _to help you. I don't have the energy to be me! Stop asking me to help you and _figure it out! _Is that so much to ask?" Cuddy cried. She didn't want to spend these days settling disputes and fighting. She needed love, not war, but she didn't have the energy to make either. "Get out," Cuddy whispered. "I need to calm down before Wilson gets here."

Evelyn left, and didn't let herself cry and she was safely hidden in the guest. It was only then she let herself sob, when she was sure that no one - especially her daughter - could hear her.

* * *

Wilson stood at the threshold to House and Cuddy's place, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

He had never been more terrified than in this moment.

He rang the doorbell.

It took a few minutes, but finally Evelyn opened the door. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she was clutching a tissue. Wilson could see Rachel curled up in a blanket on the couch, eyes half closed as the opening credits of that fish film rolled.

"She's in her room," Evelyn sniffed, the scene reminiscent of a teenager turning up at her girl's house and needing the all clear from her mom. Wilson felt oddly uncomfortable. Evelyn kept pottering, until she whipped round to face him. "Are you going or what?" She barked.

"Yes," Wilson stammered, almost adding a 'ma'am' to the end.

He left the room and practically sprinted down the hallway. He slowed in front of her door. As though it was his last move, he reluctantly knocked on the door. "Come in," he heard her call out, and he realised that it as now or never. He opened the door.

The sight that met him was not one he was prepared for. He knew from House that she'd been beaten and that she didn't look great, but the bruises clouding her beautiful face were far more prominent that he'd ever imagined and the clear handprints around her neck made him uneasy.

"Don't start crying," she warned, sitting up. "I've had enough tears."

"I won't," he offered, jumping to give her anything she asked for. He'd come empty handed - not that that was a problem - as he didn't know what to bring. Flowers seemed inappropriate; they were more for congratulations. As he looked at her face, he knew with certainty that there was nothing worth celebrating.

She was sitting on the bed and Wilson was unsure of whether he could sit with her. He gestured down, "can I?"

She stiffened. "Sure," she said tightly, but Wilson sensed the panic.

"Maybe I could sit over here," he alternated, moving over to the chaise in the corner of the room. Cuddy smiled gratefully. When both were seated, Wilson looked up at his friend. "How... are you?" He asked lamely.

"Good," she smiled. "Fine."

It was unbearably awkward. Wilson could feel her panic radiating out from her. "Is House here?" She asked. "Because... he said he'd be back."

"I think his patient got worse, so he's still diagnosing," Wilson told her. "But he'll come home soon." There was a pause. "Lisa, I'm so glad you're okay. I was terrified the whole time, I can't imagine what you went through. If you need me, for _anything, _just ask. I'm here for you."

"Thank you," Cuddy whispered. "Means a lot. That you're offering, that you're here. I know that you've been worried, but I'm fine. Or I will be. You don't need to panic or think I'm never going to be alright. Everything's going to be _fine,_" she emphasised, but she seemed to be convincing herself more than him.

"We've got a temp at the hospital," Wilson filled her in. "She's good, but nothing on you. Your job's waiting when you want it."

Cuddy's eyes filled with tears. Wilson's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he wanted to move over and comfort her but was hesitant. "I shouldn't have mentioned work, I wasn't thinking..."

"No," she scoffed. "I just _don't care. _I want to, that hospital is a huge part of my life, but... I just _don't. _Everything's different." She sniffed. "I want House. Where is he?"

"I can call him," Wilson offered.

"He said he'd be here," she said sadly.

Wilson realised that she felt betrayed. That House was one of the few people she trusted and he hadn't kept a promise. House had told him how nervous she was about seeing him and that part of the reason she'd agreed was because House had said he'd be there. Wilson was suddenly mad at his friend. How could he not be here for her?

"I'm sure he wants to be here," Wilson tried, but he didn't any drive.

"No." She said sadly, but with an ounce of strength. A glimpse of the Cuddy he'd known was shining through. "It's okay, I'm doing great. I don't need him, or any _man _to help me and make me better. I can do it fine on my own."

"You won't have to, because I'm here, and House is here, and everyone else. _Everyone _is on your side." He kissed his hand and pressed it gently to a clear spot on her cheek. "You look exhausted. I'll go."

"Thank you," she said hurriedly, squeezing his hand. "For being here. Maybe... in a few days... you could come back?"

"I'd like that," he smiled companionably.

"See you," Cuddy called out as he exited her room, feeling a rush of love for the man. There were still all the amazing people in her life as before, and they were all there for her. She really did feel like she had some strength not only in her, but behind her also.

* * *

House closed the door to their house quietly, hoping not to wake Rachel, who was sleeping on the couch. He picked up the little girl in her swaddle of blankets and carried her gently to her bed. After placing her on the covers - her blanket cocoon would be warm enough - he limped out as slyly as possible, shutting the door with a little click.

He turned slowly round and jumped back as he was met with Cuddy, a murderous look on her face.

"Where the _hell _were you?" She snarled.

he looked at his feet, away from her eyes. "Sorry. My patient - "

"Do you think I give a flying _fuck _about your patient? Take care of _me. _Cure _me,_" she pleaded. "You _promised._"

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"_Sorry? _I didn't want to see him, I saw him because _you _said it would do us both some good. I was _scared, _and you..." She broke off, eyes welling up. "You _promised _me. I don't have time for you to break promises, I don't have the willpower to fight you to make you look after me. If you can't do it without prompting..."

He saw where this was going. "No, no, I _am so sorry _I wasn't there. I... couldn't save you. I could save that man. If I came home I would sit with you and watch you cry and feel bad. But there's now a family that doesn't have to _grieve. _I may not be able to help you, but I could help them." He told her honestly. She stalked off to the kitchen without a word, and he followed her. "Cuddy?"

He was met with fury. "Do you think I'm past _saving?_" She fumed. "That there's no _hope? _What kind of... of..." She gritted her teeth, her eyes on fire, and grabbed the closest thing to her - a glass - and threw it with force at the wall.

They both watched it smash and the shattered fragments fly across the room. House turned his shocked gaze back to Cuddy who was staring at the mark it had created on the wall, mouth slightly agape. She whipped back round to him, ready for the next round. "Is your patient - who's name I _know _you can't tell me - more important than me? Are you tired of me? That I'm not okay, that I can't already be with you like I used to?" She stared him down. "That I can't _fuck _you like I used to?"

"No!" He countered, shouting. "Don't be a _moron. _You are _creating _these thoughts and trying to make me the bad guy. _I did not hurt you. I will not hurt you. _All I am trying to do is be here. And I'm not saying that this is about me or that I feel _anything _like you, but... it's painful for me too. To see you, and to not be able to help. I _don't care _about sex. I care about _you._" Her arms were folded over her chest and she wasn't watching him.

Still without turning toward him, apparently ignoring his words. She went to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a stack of dinner plates. Then she picked one up and threw it as hard as she could against the wall.

House's eyes widened as the plate smashed, but he said nothing. He watched as she picked up the next one and let it follow the first. The shards flew across the kitchen. She'd thrown it with such force that some pieces landed next to his feet. "Cuddy..." He warned.

"Shut up or I will throw the next one at you," she hissed and kept going.

After she finished the first stack House saw the tears rolling down her face. She stood for a moment, surrounded by the broken plates. House was about to get up and go to her when she grabbed the other glasses out of the cupboard and started flinging them against the wall with the same force as before.

Her sobs increased to the point of hysteria as she systematically smashed every piece of crockery in the kitchen. "_I'm so angry,_" she kept saying, whispering, screaming, hissing. The tears rolled down her cheeks. House watched, screaming inside his own head, as she poured every ounce of strength and emotion into smashing all the pieces.

As she smashed the last glass her hands were cut and bleeding, as were her feet from throwing herself around the kitchen. House watched her fall to her knees in the middle of the destruction, heaving her shoulders forward and howling. He leapt out and pulled her into him, catching her as she fell.

"Let go of me!" She fought, pushing against him.

"Stop struggling," he soothed. "I've got you."

She took a long breath and House felt her melt into him, clutching his body to her. It was the first time since she'd been home that he'd been properly able to hold her. His eyes burned as she buried her face into his chest, her slender hands fisting his shirt and dripping blood. From their place in the middle of the floor House could see the carnage.

He wanted to take away her suffering. He gently got up of the floor, still cradling her to his chest as a father would a child. She was crying and howling, oblivious to the motion. "It didn't work," she kept whispering, "I feel the same."

He placed her on their bed and got up next to her, letting her bury herself in him. He wrapped his arms as tight as they could go without hurting around her and he stroked her hair, and kissed her forehead, and let her put everything on him. He wanted to _absorb _her suffering.

She didn't run out of steam until a few hours later. It took him a moment to realise that the hiccuping sobs had stopped and she was sleeping against, with the features of an innocent child about her. He tucked her head under his and held her close. No matter what it took, she would know that she was _safe. _


	15. Chapter 15

Cuddy woke up the next morning, head pounding and eyes burning. She pushed the covers back and watched the sunlight stream through the window, bathing the room in a golden glow. She smiled lightly, feeling an unusual wave of calm blow over her. She lay back on the bed and shut her eyes, breathing deeply and taking in the moment.

Although she'd felt her lowest last night - as if destroying all the kitchen utensils wasn't proof of that - and thought that she'd only made her suffering worse. But now, after crying so hard she half thought she'd snapped her ribs (again), she felt... lighter.

Maybe this anger thing really was temporary.

She heard a light knock on the door and lifted her head. House popped his head in. "Hey," he sighed, "can I come in?"

"You don't have to ask," she said, propping herself up against the pillows.

"Was scared you'd throw a plate at me," he smirked, limping in and sitting next to her on the bed.

"I'm pretty sure there aren't any plates left," she countered.

"Touché," he said quietly, gently running his thumb along her hand. "I was thinking... you might want to go out with me today."

She breathed out. "House..."

"I know you're scared," he sympathised. "But you've been in this house for the past ten days aside from going to the hospital. And before that... It's not like you were getting much sunlight. You haven't been out in such a long time, and I think you should try it."

She looked at him. She didn't have to say anything, but he could see what she was feeling. "Just me and you," he continued. "For... ten minutes."

She nodded. "Fine. But, you're skipping work. We're doing this now, in daylight."

He smiled. "Are _you _telling me to skive work for something personal?"

"When _I'm _in charge, you better show up and do your damn job. When I need you _here, _and I have no reason to care to about the hospital, I don't want you to go in. I want you to stay here with me. Like Wilson said, the hospital will be there when I'm ready." She pulled the covers back. "Help me get dressed."

House gently took her hands and pulled her up. He went to the dresser and pulled out some loose woollen trousers and black T-shirt. After handing them to her, he turned away. "I can wait outside if you want."

"No," she shook her head. "I want you to see me." He nodded awkwardly. Her lip trembled. "Unless... you don't want to."

"No, no," he mumbled. "We can do this. It's not like you can put these trousers on without me anyway."

"Oh, I don't know about that," she chuckled. "You're much better at getting clothes off than on."

He raised an eyebrow, but reached forward and lifted the hem of her shirt. "You know you can stop me," he told her as he dragged the shirt over her head. She sucked in a quick breath, and House tried to look away as he saw her torso come into view. There were yellowing bruises dotted over her body, blooming especially where her ribs were healing. He could see the hickeys over her breasts, the marks of which had not yet faded. He swallowed.

"I know it looks bad," she murmured. "But they'll go away."

He nodded sadly. Cuddy knew that looking at the marks of her abduction were traumatising for him too.

He picked up the shirt and she winced as put her arms up. "You need to get those checked out again," House warned as he drew the fabric over her. "To make sure they're not healing vertically, or something freaky like that."

"I have an appointment with Samson for next week. Repeat pelvic, and general injury check up," Cuddy told him as she sat down and began to slide her sweats off. She kept her knees pulled close to her chest, guarding herself from him. He picked up the trousers and hooked them over her ankles.

She held his gaze for a second. "If you want to put these on, you're going to have to put your legs down." House told her.

"Shut your eyes," she ordered and he complied. He then drew the trousers up over her knees and to her waist. She then stood and buttoned them, feeling unhappy with herself. She wanted to move forward, be comfortable with him, but... when she saw those bruises on her thighs, he was the last one she wanted seeing them. She didn't want him to remember her as that person, as the rape victim. She knew that there would always be a part of him that knew that about her, but he didn't need to see it imprinted on her body.

At least those bruises would fade, she consoled herself.

He took her hand and drew her out of the bedroom. "We can just walk," he suggested as they put their coats on. "Get breakfast, if you want."

She took his hand and the pair of them left the house. Cuddy was surprised as she walked into the sunshine. He was right, she'd... forgotten what being in the fresh air was like. Her few ventures out of the house since she'd been rescued consisted of hospital visits. She was always depressed or scared and never focused. Now she could look around, and after only a minute or two, she was already realising something that she'd known all her life: She was stronger than this. She could beat this.

House watched her face as she processed. He squeezed her hand in encouragement, and she smiled. "Let's go," she commanded, almost dragging him into the cool Spring air.

* * *

They walked companionably in silence for a bit, hands entwining and falling back apart intermittently. House kept stealing glances at her, watching the sunlight bounce off her eyes. As they entered the jogging park they made their way to the seats by the lake, sitting and watching the water still with little to no sound between them.

He stroked the length of her thumb with his index finger repeatedly. She looked at her lap for a few seconds, then turned to him. "What if I was pregnant?" She asked suddenly.

"I'd say Mazel Tov, then I'd go for an aerial view of New Jersey on my flying pig," he smirked. "Are you?"

"No," she shook her head. "What if I had AIDS?"

"Do you?" House asked.

"I don't know. I get my test results on Saturday."

"Okay," he blew out a breath. "It's okay."

"If it's positive," she said, so quietly that he could barely hear, "will you stay with me?"

"Yes," he answered.

"You're not sure," she shook her head. "You're thinking about it."

"I am sure," he said adamantly. "It would be... difficult. But we'd do it."

"You don't want kids," she pointed out, "and yet you're saying you'd be willing to raise _his_? And you stay with me, even if I had an incurable STD?"

"Would you keep it, if you were pregnant?" He asked her back.

"No - I couldn't," she said, keeping her eyes on the lake. "It's just... I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know what's going to happen to me, how I'm going to feel, how we're going to get over this... I need to know that you're with me."

"Look at me," he said softly. As their eyes met, he stroked her cheek. "_I'm with you_."

"It's only been ten days, and I feel like I'm stuck," she shrugged. "It's useless."

"You're coping," he reassured. "Ten whole days!" He exclaimed sarcastically. "Cuddy, ten days is roughly a sixth of the time you spent in that hell-hole. You can't expect it to take less time to handle it than the length of the thing you're recovering from. This... could - will - take months. Don't rush." He ran a hand down her arm. "Chill out, babe," he smirked, and she smiled back.

* * *

House walked Cuddy back to their house before leaving her on the doorstep. He was just ambling down the driveway to his bike - ready for the work day - when Cuddy reentered their place, grimacing as she saw her mother sitting and drinking coffee at the kitchen table. "Morning," she muttered, taking a cup down from the shelf and wincing as she did so. The good mood her trip outside had put her in was quickly dissipating.

"Good morning," Evelyn replied primly, taking a sip of her own drink. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine." Cuddy snapped. Then - after being unable to find a cup - looked at her mother's drinking cup. It was a small pink princess one, belonging to Rachel. Cuddy remembered. She'd smashed everything. In her fit of rage she thrown every kitchen implement that had the possibility of being smashed to smithereens against the wall. And her mother... her mother had cleared it up. Gone were the shards of glass and china, the remnants of her outburst.

Cuddy looked back to her hands, seeing the light cuts that were already healing. She'd forgotten. "Thank you," she murmured. "For clearing up last night."

"That's alright sweetie," Evelyn replied, not looking up from her newspaper. "As long as whatever that was helped you."

Cuddy smiled to herself. "I think it did," she said quietly, a sliver of hope growing within her. "Is Rachel up?" Cuddy changed the subject swiftly. She was too _drained _to start over analysing everything yet. She couldn't think this over now.

"Not yet," Evelyn answered. "You really should send her back to school soon. Wouldn't want her to miss out on learning because you're having trouble letting go."

Cuddy resisted the urge to slap her mother clear across the face. She balled her hands into fists at her sides and took a deep breath, leaving the room before she sent her mother sprawling. As she picked her way to Rachel's room she blinked back tears - her mother wasn't something she wanted to cry about anymore. "Sweetheart," Cuddy whispered, opening the door quietly, "it's morning baby."

Rachel groaned from the bed, little legs flung out from under the blanket and arms wrapped around her pillow. She was so innocent, Cuddy thought. She thought of the violence that had been inflicted on her and felt the bile rise up her throat as she thought of the children who'd endured what she had - endured _worse _than she had. She watched Rachel twisting out of her sleep and she made a promise to herself, her daughter and whoever else happened to be listening that she would never let anything like happen to Rachel. She'd made that vow many times before, but it didn't hurt to renew it every once in a while.

"Mommy," Rachel said sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "Where did you go?"

Cuddy froze. "What?" She asked, hoping that Rachel had seen them leaving this morning and was asking a totally different question.

"You were away for aaaaaaages," Rachel drawled. "Where were you?"

"Why all the questions?" Cuddy deflected. She pulled Rachel out from under the covers despite her protests and started to pull out clothes for her to wear. Rachel started to pull off her pajamas, but didn't drop it.

"Because, it's not fair that I don't get to know anything never!" She demanded. "You know, House knows, Nana knows. I'm as big as you, you hafta tell me."

"First, you are _not _as big as me," Cuddy smiled, holding out a t-shirt to Rachel. "You're my little girl. Second, it doesn't matter. Where I was was boring. I'm home now - and that is _all _that matters." She kissed Rachel's nose. "We clear, big girl?"

"Yeah mommy," Rachel scowled. But both of them knew that this topic wasn't finished.

* * *

House slumped down next to Wilson in the cafeteria. Wilson looked up at him expectantly, but House just stared off into space. Wilson waited another moment before going back to his case files, just letting House ready himself. It was only another minute or two before he broke the silence. "Cuddy could have AIDS."

Wilson shut the file. "I know."

"She won't know until Saturday. And she'll have to keep getting tested. It could turn positive in sixth months." House spoke quickly and shortly. Wilson knew that he was holding it together for Cuddy, but seeing him now - face shallow and gaunt - he knew that House was close to falling apart.

"Does a disease status really make that much of a difference?" Wilson asked gently.

"No." House answered immediately. "Why would it? Apart from the fact that I'll to wear rubbers for the rest of my life it shouldn't change anything at all. At least, not yet," he rationalised. Wilson sat with him in silence, sensing that there was more that House had yet to blurt out. "She has to have the memories for the rest of her life anyway," he said quietly. "The last thing I want, after everything she'll have to do to handle this, is for it to be the thing that kills hers."

"House - " Wilson started, but he was cut off.

"This is so fucked up," House spat. "People are sadistic, selfish and usually stupid lumps of flesh. We do horrible things, half the time to not obviously horrible people. I certainly do. And then..." House took a deep breath and gave a short incredulous laugh. "He _locked _her in a _basement _for _two months. _He did the same things to _eight _other women. He took... _so much _from her. Who does that?" He looked away, and even though Wilson couldn't see the pain in his friend's eyes he could sense it.

"I know it's hard to think about," Wilson soothed. "Someone violating the woman you love." House shot him a dark look, but Wilson kept on going. House's disapproval had long since stopped him from saying something. "But think - not graphically - of everything he put her through. You're right, he took so - _too _- much from Cuddy and all the other eight women that he abducted. And even after all that, after the nights she spent down there, after the torture she endured... She _survived. _That _must _count for something." Wilson finished, hoping that he said something not totally wrong.

"It's testament to _her _fighting spirit," House countered. "Not the integrity of humanity."

Wilson didn't know what to say. "People kill," he commiserated. "People rape and abduct and torture... and then, like Cuddy, there are the victims. They are also the _survivors. _Just remember that she is a million times stronger than that man will ever be."

"Doesn't matter," House muttered rubbing his temples. "He... _hurt _her in ways that I don't want to think about."

"You may have to," Wilson burst the bubble. "_She _has to think about them, and if you're going to help her through this and be with her - which you better fucking will be - then you'll have to address. It's painful and horrible and you'll hate every minute... but then she'll recover and you'll get the woman you love back," Wilson gave a small smile, imagining. "And then it will all be worth it."

* * *

Cuddy was lying on the couch, eyes glazing over as some reality show played on the screen. She missed House. He was on a case right now, but... she wanted him to hold her hand. She wanted him to love her and put her first. She knew, deep down, that he'd stay with her if she asked. But she couldn't bring herself to do it.

As the clock just passed one am, the door opened. House limped in, throwing his bag on the floor. Cuddy stayed still, knowing he hadn't seen her yet. She watched as he grabbed something - a soft toy of Rachel's - off the table and throw at the wall. Although it barely made a sound, the strength she saw rippling through his arms simultaneously startled and reassured her. She gasped, quietly, but loud enough that he heard.

"Cuddy," he stated.

She stared at him, eyes wide and empty. "I know."

He opened his mouth but no words came out. Instead - feeling like a coward - he handed her a letter he'd picked up from the mailbox on his way in. "For you. Official looking seal, I guess it's important."

She slit the envelope open. Her heart thumped as she read. "House," she breathed, and he moved over as quickly as his leg would allow.

"What is it?" He demanded. "What happened?"

"Nothing _happened,_" she reassured. "They need to me to give my statement again - the lawyers - so they can check that my statements match up." She put her head in her hands. "I _can't _say it all again."

"Yes - "

"_No. _I don't want to _remember. _I don't want people to know... it's _humiliating..._" She began to weep softly. "It's all getting worse."

"Bed now," he suggested, as a father would. "Sleep. Cuddy, you can do this. You _know _you can. You want him in prison more than anyone else on this case and you know and will do what it takes to get it. Take some time, accept this, but you know..." He held her hand tighter. "It's got to be done."

She stalked off to bed without another word. She wasn't mad, it was just...

House was always _right. _

* * *

_The chains cut into her wrists, letting small droplets of blood stain the bedsheets. His leering face loomed over her. She shut her eyes, willing herself to block it out and forget. She felt him lick her face and she shuddered, wishing that her hands were free so she could scrub him off her body. _

_She winced as her body screamed. She writhed. The bed creaked. _

_It was as if everything was in high definition. Each sense was heightened. More vivid. "Stop," she pushed at her chest with her head. "Stop!" _

_"Shut. Up," he warned, grunting as he moved within her. "I'll kill you bitch," he hissed. _

_"This is a nightmare," she hissed back, tears rolling down her cheeks. "You don't exist anymore. This place will be forgotten, like you." _

_"Don't lie," he scoffed. "This is a memory. It happened, to you," he smirked. "And you'll _never _forget it." _


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Angst, angst, sad sad angsty angst. Given the state of my beloved fandom, is it any wonder that I felt compelled to work on this story? Lots of sad moments... God. Ugh. I'm waiting for the light hearted muse to kick in again. Enjoy :) **

* * *

House sat at his office chair, twirling a pen in his fingers. He was fading fast, despite it only being ten in the morning. Cuddy, even though she was still plagued by nightmares and flashbacks, was already beginning to sleep a little better. The time she did get in slumberland was far less fitful - unlike before, when each moment of sleep had been jumpy and panicked.

House was the one now unable to sleep. Each time Cuddy woke up from a nightmare, he'd pretend like her whimpering and crying had woken him up. He'd then do his best to soothe her back to sleep. She had no idea that he was now awake most of the night, not even attempting sleep.

He was completely paranoid. Though he knew that McHenry was in jail, he'd convinced himself that the house - or rather, the _planet _- was no longer safe. He'd let her down once; he couldn't do it again. Rationally, he understood how insane this was. He tried to talk himself out of it, but to no avail. He hated that this situation had the power to make him lose all rational capabilities, but no amount of reasoning could make him stop.

He dropped off a few times per night, but his body was now conditioned to wake up at the slightest sound. A pipe would creak, and his eyes would snap open. His heart would beat faster even after he'd ascertained the source of the noise. If he slept again, it would be fleeting, often disturbed by Cuddy waking up or Rachel climbing into their bed or another small, inconsequential noise.

In short, he was exhausted.

His eyes barely staying open, he leaned back in his office chair. It had been another two weeks, and it seemed that every move was bittersweet. It was as if a switch had gone off in Cuddy - she was fighting this hard as she could. He watched her deal with this hellish aftermath, smiling and gritting her teeth. Watching her fight back was good, but he could see how difficult it was. She'd smile, and, just before the smile faded, he'd see her mouth clench and her lip tremble and he'd be reminded of just how low she felt. As sappy as it sounded, it made his chest - his _heart _- hurt.

He was jerked from his own head by someone opening his office door. Expecting Wilson, or one of his anxious team members, he called out, "Busy."

"Guess I'll come back then," Cuddy said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Wouldn't want to disturb your busy afternoon of brooding."

House practically leapt up. Cuddy smirked at his wide eyes, watching as he looked her up and down. "You're... out," he stated. "You're _here._"

"I _know_," Cuddy replied. "Used my own two feet and everything."

He watched her move over and sit down in front of his desk. It had been almost a month since she'd come home, and her face was healing. The bruises were nearly gone, the stitches dissolved. A few light scars remained, but they'd go soon, in time. She was moving better too, her ribs healing nicely. Her latest hospital check-up - still at Princeton General - had been good all round. House had sat beside her as Dr Samson had promised them both that she would recover - physically, at least - fully. A few lasting scars on her back, from glass and other crap on the basement floor. The rest of her - _all _of her, in House's mind - was going to get better too.

Her HIV test was negative, at least for now. She'd been strong and resolute as she'd repeated her statement for the lawyers, and heard about how the trial was going to go. The evidence that would be entered, her witness statement, cross examination.

House had sat by her, watching as she nodded and took it all in stride. He knew that she was capable, but, it was unnerving to see her so okay. He knew she wasn't alright. But she was trying to be. He guessed that was better than nothing.

She put her feet up on the desk, flats instead of heels. She wasn't back in her skin tight suits yet - her body was too tender. But she was in a light cotton dress that hugged her still perfect body, white with blue flowers. She looked immaculate and polished, but soft. House liked it. He was watching her carefully, the corner of his lips turning upward. "What?" She laughed lightly.

"Nothing," House shrugged. "You look pretty," he crooned, in a heavy Southern accent. She blushed a little, something which was new and probably temporary. "Did you get stared down?" House asked. "You know, 'Lisa Cuddy is back in the building.'"

"Yep," she said, as if it didn't bother her. "Everyone was acting like I came back from the dead."

"You kind of did," he answered.

"It's funny," she continued. "I thought it would bother me, everyone staring and knowing. But it just makes me think that they don't know what I went through, they don't _know _what I'm dealing with. They just know the basics of what happened. Not that they want this, but it seems like they're waiting for me to freak out and fall apart. If anything, having to prove them wrong just seems like a _challenge,_" she said, the hint of a smile gracing her lips. "One I'm happy to take on."

She took his hand from across the table. Not to clutch at it, but just to run her thumb along the ridge of hand, and stroke his palm. Lately, Cuddy had been finding House's hands more and more soothing. Not in a sexual way, but when she was tense, there was something undeniably tender about the way his hands would flit across her back and card through her hair.

"Come here," House beckoned. "I want to show you something." He gestured to his computer screen. Cuddy rolled her eyes but obliged, getting up and making her way over to him.

"The screen's blank," she pointed out.

"Is it?" He asked, simultaneously pulling her onto his lap.

Cuddy rolled her eyes internally, berating herself for not realising that this is what he wanted. Ever since they'd bridged that awkward first moment of contact, House had been far more affectionate, seemingly desperate just to touch her and be near her. Whether this was down to him nearly losing her, Cuddy didn't know, but she was willing to indulge him. As they weren't kissing, Cuddy knew that this was the most intimate contact House could have with her. She didn't feel bad about that - she wasn't about to push herself into a situation she didn't want to be in just to satisfy his libido - but she definitely wanted to give him what little comfort she could offer.

She couldn't pinpoint why they weren't kissing yet. Well, she knew why, obviously. But she didn't know, considering she did want to kiss him, why she couldn't push herself past that barrier. She was safe with him, she knew. She could trust him. But, not yet. She couldn't surrender herself like that yet.

She laid her head on his shoulder, making sure she was on his good leg. "I spoke to Sanford Wells," she told him. "I'm going to have a meeting with the Board soon."

"About what?" He asked, fiddling with the rubber bands in the ball on his desk.

"When, or if, I want to come back," she answered. "I do, of course. It's just a question of when."

"Hmm," House deliberated, running a hand across her shoulders and squeezing them gently. "I see. You're in a pickle, aren't you?"

She frowned. "Why?"

"Well, on one hand, you need to come back right away to stop the troll they all call Dr Landon ruining your precious hospital," he explained. "On the other hand, you probably shouldn't come back until after the trial."

"What?" She said, twisting to see him. "Why?"

"You can't think you can focus on work with all this going through your head," he said, as if it were obvious.

"The trial might not be for a year," she countered.

"So take a year off," he suggested.

"House, I have responsibilities," she chided. "I can't just take a year off - "

"Cuddy, it's not about your responsibilities," he interrupted, "it's about you, for _once, _making sure that _you're _okay before worrying about everybody else. You come back and start working like a she-devil - like normal - you'll repress and hide and eventually have a mental breakdown." She stared at him. "What? I'm being frank and understanding," he joked.

"House - " She started, shifting a little on his lap. He winced and she made a move to get up. "Alright, I'm moving. I'm obviously hurting you."

"You're not!" He protested, trying but failing not to scrunch his face up as his thigh throbbed again.

"I am," she decided, attempting to push herself up. Although House held on for a second, he didn't cling for long. He was worried that if he tried to pull her into something - whether it be a hug, or more time off work - she'd end up upset and triggered. "Anyway," she cut in. "I think I'll take... another month? Does that satisfy you?"

"N - " House started, but stopped. "Great," he said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "Fine."

Cuddy furrowed her eyebrows. "You're not going to fight me on this?"

"What's the point?" House shrugged. "It's your choice. I respect that."

"You've never respected my decisions before," she reminded him.

"Before, you hadn't been - " He said, but shut up quickly. He saw the anger flash across her face.

"What? Attacked?" She challenged, still soft-voiced but angry. "I'm still me, House. I'm going to fight this. I'm not going to break if you touch me... Just be _you. _And let us be _us._"

"We can't be _us _yet," House replied, as if it were obvious. "You're not you, and not-you can't handle me, so I have to be not-me, so we can end up as me and you." He raised a confused eyebrow. "Understand? 'Cause I'm not sure I do."

"I'm me," she said, smiling as best she could. "I'm the me I was always was."

"Really?" He asked. "So why do I have to tiptoe around you?"

"You _don't_," Cuddy said incredulously. "You are _choosing _to, but you can fight me like you used to. If you think I'm not doing something right, you'd never had a problem telling me before. Tell me now," she ordered. "Tell me."

"I... don't think - "

"House!" She placed her hands on her hips, eyes welling up. "Why can't you just be what I need?"

"I assumed you needed _support,_" he replied. "Not someone who makes your life difficult when you need it to be _easy._"

She wiped her eyes hurriedly.

"You just make me feel like something's wrong with me," she revealed.

He sat in silence. "Nothing's wrong with you," he blew out a breath. "You're perfect."

"Perfectly screwed up," she replied. "I want your opinion, House. Your opinion matters _most, _of _anyone's. _I trust you. I trust you tell me the truth as frankly as I need it to be said. I can't figure out why you're not willing to do that!"

"Because I can't scare you!" He blurted out. "I can't make you feel like he did. I can't _ever _have you look at me and think of him. I just can't do it, Cuddy. I _won't_. You flinch at loud noises. You cry at _nothing. _How can you think that a fight with me would do you any good?"

"Because you don't see things like I do," she said. "I'm emotionally involved. You can look at this rationally, and tell me what I need."

House was stunned. "You really think I'm not emotionally involved in this?" There was no malice or accusation, just pure shock.

"The emotion I saw from you that night was the only real emotion I've ever seen from you about this. The rest of the time, you're telling me that I can do this, I'm strong, that I'm getting better. You're speaking in clichés, in bumper stickers. You opened up to me then, and since, you've pulled away," she shook her head. "So I can only assume that you're limiting your emotional involvement."

House watched her carefully. He knew that she was trying not cry, but she held her jaw firmly in place and stared him down, eyes glittering. He could tell that this was something she'd wanted to mention for a while.

He opened his mouth to contradict her. To burst into tears like an infant crying for mommy, and sob about how much this was killing even a bastard like him. But, he couldn't. Even though she was literally asking for it, he didn't want to bring her into his messed up brain. If he added his fears into the melting pot, then this was no longer about her. He didn't want to detract the focus.

So, he said nothing.

Cuddy sighed. "I was going to ask you to dinner," she muttered. "Now I'll just go."

She left with a flounce, leaving House to brood. He spent the afternoon trying to drift into even a fitful sleep, but he couldn't do it. So he resigned himself to another sleepless night and day, turned on his gameboy, and went to work.

* * *

House lay in bed next to Cuddy that night. She was sleeping, finally. She'd obviously been preoccupied - House didn't need three guesses to guess why - and had fought sleep to the last second. Now, she was breathing evenly and off in sleepy town.

House was in no such place.

His ears straining for each tiny noise, his eyes flitted about the room after the shadows. His thoughts jumped frenetically, not stopping for more than a second on one particular thing.

Suddenly, he heard a low rumbled. Instantly, he was up. He jumped across the bathroom, ready to attack any man, woman or child in there that would dare hurt his girl. But, of course, it was the _fucking _pipes.

Again.

He threw his strong arm up and wrenched the pipe from the wall, ripping it away from the plumbing system. The shower was now disconnected, but he didn't care. Breathing heavily he prepared to hurl the pipe as hard as he could at the wall. He understood in an instant why Cuddy had destroyed the kitchen. It was _release, _and he hoped that it worked.

Raising his arm, he prepared to swing. Then he stumbled back to the wall and sank down, dropping the pipe gently as he went. His head went to his hands. His eyes began to spill over, hot tears burning his hands. He'd shed a few tears over the last three months, since her abduction, but nothing serious. He'd been too afraid to let himself reach that level of vulnerability.

Now the tears came freely. Never a man for sobbing, the hot beads slid down his face in silence. He scrubbed his hands against his eyes to try and stop the flow of liquid, but he couldn't. He was releasing months of pent up anger and frustration and sadness through this... He couldn't stop.

He felt a hand lightly touch his shoulder. Slowly, he rose his gaze. Cuddy was standing over him, eyes wide and sympathetic. He felt like a moron instantaneously. Rubbing his eyes and wiping his face, he tried to talk and stop crying. He hated Cuddy seeing him like this.

She didn't let him utter a word. She sat beside him, her own eyes glistening but not spilling yet. After stroking his moist cheek a few times she wordlessly pulled his head down to her, letting his head rest on her chest. At any other time, this position would have earned a slew of derogatory breast comments, but not tonight. Tonight... House didn't know what _this _was, but he didn't want it remembered as a good depiction of his personality.

Her heartbeat radiated through his ears and into his head. The feel of her hands on his arms, her pulse in his ears, her breath on his head... His eyes continued to leak, despite his raging internal protests.

"It's okay," she soothed.

"It's not," House choked. "You - "

"Ssh," she hushed him gently. "Just let it out, House. Tomorrow, we'll pretend this never happened. For tonight, you be whoever you need to be."

Wrapping his arms around her body, House released that was all the encouragement he needed. Squeezing her gently, he cried. There were no words and Cuddy didn't intervene. House spent over an hour pouring out his feelings in liquid form, feeling the pain dissipate slightly and guilt and anger subside for a while.

He hated every minute of it... And knew that he'd needed it more than anything.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait guys. I'm a little bit useless, I know. But I'm actually really happy with the way this chapter turned out - it's definitely a big step for a Cuddy. **

**On an unrelated note, I now have a formspring. www(dot)formspring(dot)me/ellieshelly. Feel free to ask me questions, give me story ideas/requests/suggestions etc either signed or anonymously :) **

* * *

"Mommy!" Rachel squealed, leaping onto Cuddy and House's bed with vigour. "Momma, it's morning. You've gotta wake up!"

Cuddy groaned and turned over in her sleep, burying her head deeper into the pillow. "Why?" She mumbled. "Can't you go back to sleep, monkey?"

Rachel shook her head. "I'm awake now," she reasoned. "And I really really really want to go to the park today. Like, really really."

"Honey," Cuddy started, running a hand through her hair and pushing herself up into an upright position, "I'm tired. And I will take you to the park today, but right now, you've got to let Mommy sleep or I might just have to shut myself in my bedroom and sleep for another month straight."

Rachel went rigid. "Okay mommy," she said in a quiet voice, "you sleep now. We can go later."

In a perfect world, Cuddy would have left it there and gone back to sleep. But as soon as she'd heard Rachel's tone, she'd known something was wrong. And so, instead of napping, she shook herself a little more awake and pulled Rachel into her embrace. "What's wrong?" She asked tenderly, kissing Rachel's temple.

"Nothing," Rachel said defensively.

"Rach - "

"Mom, I'm fine," Rachel protested, pushing Cuddy's soothing hands off of her. "Sleep," she commanded.

Cuddy laughed. "I think I'm a little more awake now," she said, lightly scratching Rachel's back. "You sure you're alright?"

"Uh huh."

"And you'd tell me if you weren't?" She continued.

"Uh huh."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Why don't we get up and make House breakfast?" She suggested. "Then maybe we can sweet talk him into coming to the park with us."

* * *

House woke to the smell of pancakes and childish giggles wafting through the air. He padded out into the kitchen, smiling a little as he saw Cuddy bent over the oven, flipping the pancakes and making an omelette simultaneously.

He wrapped an arm around her waist for a second as he reached up for a coffee cup, gently stroking the soft skin of her hip. "This is nice," he commented. "Seeing you all domesticated."

"Watch your pretty mouth," she threatened, a smile dancing across her face. "Don't get used to this," she warned. "I'm going back to work on Monday - you'll be back to me rushing in at midnight and having to heat up leftovers in no time."

Although she smiled as she said this, House did not. "I don't want you to push it," he said carefully. Cuddy was already well aware of his views on her going to back to work next week, and she told him many times that she was sick of hearing him lecture her about it.

He'd been trying, he really had. Ever since that night a month ago where he'd spent two hours crying on her shoulder he'd been mentioning what had happened as little as possible. That included missing appointments with the lawyer, comforting her about her nightmares but not asking her if she wanted to talk about them and generally acting as if nothing had changed at all.

Cuddy wasn't sure how she felt about it. She knew that this whole situation evoked emotions from House that he hated having to deal with, hated having to admit that they made him feel the way he did. Considering he was a man who was pathologically afraid of his own feelings, she been pleasantly surprised at how he'd been handling her and himself. It wasn't as if he was an open book, telling her in depth every night about how he'd coped that day, but the sweet gestures, the cuddling and soothing hair strokes he'd offer and also hint toward were enough for her.

She knew that he was doing the best he could. He'd closed off a little lately, but she was okay ignoring that. He'd come back to her soon enough.

She was more concerned lately about her own emotions and the monumental task of revealing those in therapy. She'd spent her last six sessions with Foster merely testing the proverbial waters but not really going deeply in her thoughts, her fears. She knew that she was going to start telling Foster the whole story next appointment. They'd discussed it and she'd agreed. She knew that she could pull out if she wanted to but she'd be mad at herself if she did.

She wanted to do it. The last time she'd told the story was around six weeks ago, when she'd repeated her statement to her lawyer. Aside from that, she'd been pushing the story out of her head. The nightmares and flashbacks provided vivid enough recall for anyone.

However, she knew she couldn't get complacent. She'd be up on the stand in under a year, telling a courtroom full of people, including _him, _all about the terrible things he'd done to her. If she spent the next year burying it she'd either be too afraid to speak when the moment came or mess up a detail, perhaps costing them dearly. She knew it was practically a given he'd be convicted but there was no way she was taking any chances.

"You're burning the omelette," House pointed out. She jumped out of her own head, turning the heat down and swearing. House smirked, taking a sip of his coffee. "Want some help?" He asked smugly.

She flipped him off, taking the omelette to the table. "I won't push it," she replied to his earlier statement. "House, I'm really much better. You know that. And I've been off for over two months now - if anything, it'll do me some good to get back to work."

"I know you think that," he muttered, looking at his stack of pancakes.

Cuddy was about to retaliate when Rachel bounded back into the kitchen. "I brushed my teeth and my hair," she smiled. "And I ate all my pancakes."

"Good girl," Cuddy praised. She looked at House, and then pointedly to Rachel.

"House," Rachel wheedled. "Do you want to come to the park with us today?" She asked sweetly.

"Kid," House started, "you know I would, but - "

"What but?" Cuddy cut in, finishing up her omelette. "You don't have a patient, you don't have any paperwork. You have no plans with Wilson and there are no monster truck rallies on this weekend. Your leg seems fine - as fine as it ever is - and this is the last chance we'll have to be together as a family before The Big Day tomorrow." She raised her eyebrows. "I think you'd like to come to the park, House," she said.

House blew Cuddy a kiss. "Get your boots on, Kid."

* * *

After a good solid half hour of pushing Rachel on the swings, House and Cuddy collapsed beneath a tree and watched her playing tag with some other kids. The sun was shining through the leaves and bathing them in a warm glow. Cuddy leant against House's back and sighed contently. "I love you, you know," she said, reaching up behind her to stroke his stubble.

"I know," he accepted. He waited for a moment, almost feeling her itching for him to reciprocate. "I... love spending time with you," he joked, taking her hands in his and playing with her dainty fingers.

"Say it back," she requested softly.

House kissed her hair. "I love you," he told her, slowly and honestly.

Cuddy turned so she was kneeling on the ground between his legs. House held her gaze, and was surprised to see a look in her eye that he hadn't seen for quite some time.

She wanted him.

He knew that she probably wasn't ready to go all the way yet. Who knew how far she'd be able to go? But he didn't care. He just saw the lust evident in her eyes and was happy enough knowing that, despite everything, she still had a need for him. That one day, they have themselves back. That passionate, wild relationship that he loved so much.

He could tell she was nervous. She was biting her lip and exhaling shakily as her eyes roamed his face, but he made no move to intervene. She knew he wasn't going to push her beyond what she could handle and he knew she knew that. He let her call the shots, her hands coming up to cup his face.

She was going to kiss him.

His body began to throb with excitement. He hadn't had his lips on her for _four months. _And considering they were a couple who often had sex _at least _once a day, four months without so much as a peck was astonishing. He tried as hard as he could not to move a muscle. He wanted to give her total control.

She leant in to him, and was close enough that he could feel her breath on his face. He shut his eyes in anticipation... And was met with an elbow to the eye socket. Cuddy leapt back and House moaned as Rachel collided inbetween them. "Mommy!" Rachel shouted, cheeks red with excitement. "Connor and Jack had to go but you said you'd push me again so I want you to push me now!"

Cuddy shot House a sympathetic _so close _look, and then began to tickle Rachel. With her daughter squealing, Cuddy got up to do her mommy duty. She felt bad about going back to work the next day - Rachel had obviously _loved _having her mother at home for two straight months. Cuddy knew she was a working mom with a partner who was less than willing to take an active parenting role but she still felt crushingly guilty every night that Marina was the one who tucked Rachel in.

Seeing her daughter's eyes light up every time Cuddy told her she was home again made Cuddy's heart ache. She wanted her daughter to be as happy as she could possibly be, and knew that she was going to get upset when Cuddy left for work in the morning. Rachel's weird reaction to Cuddy's comment this morning only reinforced her belief that Rachel was more upset by this whole thing than she let on.

As she made her way across to the kids playground she sent a cursory look back to House. She still felt her body wanting him, her lips wanting to touch his. She tried to push the thought out of her mind as she played with Rachel, but she couldn't stop thinking about that feeling, and how she desperately wanted to recreate it.

House watched from beneath the tree as Cuddy pushed Rachel. He didn't take his eyes off her. His gaze wasn't fixed on her butt or her boobs - no, he was stuck on her face. He watched her beam as Rachel swung higher and higher, the sun shining across her beautiful self.

* * *

House was already reading in bed as Cuddy entered the room. She'd given Rachel a long bath and a couple of stories, cushioning the blow for the morning. She smiled at him as she entered, sliding under the covers next to him.

He kept his eyes on the book, feeling the tension they were creating next to each other. Cuddy swallowed a few times. She'd thought about the almost-kiss a few times that afternoon, and had felt more and more confident that she wanted to kiss him as much as possible. He'd spent the afternoon working while Rachel and Cuddy had watched a few films and taken a lazy Sunday nap. They hadn't spoken since their ride home from the park that morning, when Rachel had been wide awake and chattering in the car.

She was about to turn and take his lips in hers when something in her head stopped her. His head was deep in the book and she... was scared. Scared of what she was opening herself back up to, scared of what kissing would eventually lead to, should she permit it. As she opened her mouth all she could manage was a quick "goodnight" before snapping the light off and trying to go to sleep.

She chastised herself inwardly as she felt House's hand come out and run across her back a few times. "Goodnight, Cuddy," he replied and she swore she could hear a smirk in his voice. It turned out she was more tired than she thought, though, so she fell asleep in seconds before she had a chance to reply.

* * *

Cuddy's eyes snapped open, glancing around at the dark room. A quick look to the clock told her it was just past two. She shook her head internally... then realised just how close her lips were to House's.

They were _very very_ close.

At some point they must have come together, as House arm was behind her neck and her head was resting on his shoulder. Their foreheads were touching and their lips were mere centimetres apart.

At that moment, she knew she had to do it. It didn't _matter_ what she was scared of - none of it mattered. This wouldn't be opening herself up to things she wasn't ready for; this would showing appreciation and affection for the man who had held her every night for eight weeks, and shown her more love and acceptance than she could have imagined possible.

There could be _nothing wrong _with showing him that.

She moved her mouth infinitesimally forward and met his soft lips with hers. It was hesitant, tender to begin with, as House began to respond and his eyes fluttered open. As soon as he realised what she was doing, he returned the kiss deeply. Not forcefully or roughly, just lovingly. He reached up to cup her cheek and used his thumb to gently open her mouth, stroking his tongue against hers.

Her heart raced with the sensations of the kissing. She couldn't believe she'd _forgotten. _She'd forgotten how much she loved to kiss him, how _safe _he made her feel. How having _his _tongue forced down her throat was rough and violating but having House stroke her face and tease her lips and stroke her tongue was soft and sensual and made her feel the way she'd forgotten she could feel when she was loved like this.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She kissed him deeper, moving to be between his legs. He settled his hands on her hips, but his touch was featherlight. She placed her hands at the nape of his neck and let a few tears slide down her cheeks. As soon as he felt the moisture on his nose he pulled away, wiping her eyes with the pads of his thumbs. "You okay?" He said hoarsely, softly.

"Yes," she said, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I forgot how much I love to kiss you," she smiled shakily.

House kissed up and down her jawline before kissing her again. "I've missed you," he whispered, putting his hands into her hair.

His head swam as he realised that he was allowed to kiss her again. She was granting him more access to her body, and to her self. He wouldn't push, he most certainly wouldn't take advantage, but he would enjoy it. He would do all he could to remind her of how wonderful they could be together. _God, _he'd missed her. He'd missed seeing her confidence in her body, strutting around like she was the sexiest thing on the planet (which, at least to House, she was). And this willingness to kiss again was only the beginning, he was sure of it. She'd be back to herself in no time and this nightmare, while always remembered, would be a thing of the past.

They stayed like that for a while, just kissing each other. Cuddy was remembering what is was like to be held by someone who cared more about her than he cared about anyone else in the world. It was like rediscovering the power of them together again - love that Cuddy knew she was lucky to experience.

Eventually, House kissed both of her cheeks and buried his face in the curve of her neck. He moaned appreciatively. Cuddy smiled a little and laid her head on his chest, so she was literally sleeping on top of him. "Thank you," she said, as his hands drew a path across her back.

"For what?" He asked gently.

"For being patient, but also... for being everything I need. Just... Thank you for loving me no matter what," she told him. His chest swelled with emotion and he tightened his hold on her.

"I wouldn't want to love anyone else," he replied, carding through her hair.

"I know it's hard for you to wait," she began, but he hushed her with a finger to her lips.

"I guess you'll have to keep me occupied with kisses then," he suggested, dropping her another quick kiss. "You'll get there. _We'll _get there. And in the mean time, I'll just have to retrain my horny-bastard brain."

"But - "

"Ssh," he soothed, scratching her back lightly. "Go to sleep."

Tucked tightly in his arms she did, and not a single nightmare interrupted her slumber.


	18. Chapter 18

The sun shone through the window and streamed through the curtains onto the bed. Cuddy shifted a little, scrunching her face as she clutched the shirt beneath her hands a little tighter. Glancing to the clock, she saw it was six. Time to get up.

She groaned internally. She was going back to work today, and so far, not looking forward to it. However, the progress of the night before made her smile. She could walk back into that hospital and really _know _that she was moving on. She moved up the bed a little and pressed her lips to House's. She smiled. "I have to get up," she told him as he stirred, reacting to the kiss.

"Take another month off," he suggested, winding his arm around her and kissing her gently. As she got up to move away, he came with her. "I'm serious. You don't have to do this."

"I know," she said. "House, I want to. It's time."

He lay back on the bed and made an 'as you wish' gesture. She got up and got into the shower, letting the water cascade down her body. After some time, she got out and stood in front of the mirror, combing her hair.

She suddenly felt very vulnerable. So far, she hadn't felt self-conscious about her recovering body. Sure, it had hurt. She felt bad when House saw it - because it only reminded him of what she'd been through - but she'd rationalised that it was temporary. Soon, she'd look like she had before.

But now, she could only focus on the differences. She saw the faint scar on her hairline, from the many hits to the scalp. She reached behind her and felt the scars on her back, from being slammed into glass on the basement floor. She ran her fingers over her thighs, feeling the tendons and ligaments which had been torn and only recently healed. Suddenly, it all came back to her. She imagined the bruises coming back, the blood dripping down her body, the handprints: on her face, breasts, arms, thighs and clutching her neck.

She knew her version of recent events was slightly skewed, so this could be what everyone was going to see today.

A woman, a shell of who she'd been. Battered and bloodied, and left for dead. She felt the bile rise up her throat. She dropped to her knees and threw up in the toilet.

Maybe House was right. Maybe it wasn't time. Maybe she should call Sanford Wells and tell him she needed another month or two. Grabbing a drink to wash the taste out of her mouth, she berated herself for thinking about admitting defeat.

She is _still_ the Dean of Medicine at a prestigious hospital. _That_ is who she is. And no one, least of all the man sitting in that prison cell, was going to stop her from being that woman again.

She forced herself to stand before the mirror again. She pushed the memories out of her mind - because that's all they were - and focused on the smooth, pristine skin. It had once been blemished but now, it was healed. She nodded, as if affirming to herself. Yes, she'd been in a bad place immediately after. And yes, some days, some hours, she felt so low and terrified that she wanted to curl up somewhere and never, ever come back. But she was becoming who she'd been before. Confident, strong and in charge. He could take her security, pride and dignity but he _could not_ take her identity.

Breathing easier, she exited the bathroom and went to get dressed. House was staring at her. She froze for a split-second. What had he heard? But then he flopped back down and let her go about dressing in peace, so she doubted he'd heard anything.

She put on plain black loose shirt, tucked into a white high-waisted pencil skirt. Staring at her wall of heels she pulled out a pair of black Louboutins. Smoothing her outfit, she looked every bit the poised and professional business woman. Her make up was on in a second and she paraded back into the bedroom, twirling for House. "How do I look?" She smirked.

He appeared to consider this. "Like you did before," he answered after a second.

Now she had to stop and think. This really was it. She'd be back in that building telling all those people that she had not changed, that nothing had happened. She was wiping this from her public persona.

She shook herself. That's what she _wanted. _The last thing she needed was for her entire work-force to treat her like a victim. So, they all knew she'd been abducted. Most, if not all, of them had surmised from the news reports of 'brutally attacked' after her rescue that she'd been beaten and raped. But there was no way in hell that they were going to confront her about it. Any person who so much as dared try and insinuate _anything _about her abduction - well, they could go and fuck themselves. Cuddy would be glad to help.

She was suddenly curious. Checking the clock to make sure she had time, she sat beside House on the bed. "Darling," she said, stroking his bicep.

"What?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Have people been... saying anything about me?" She leaned in closer to him. "I don't care; I'm just curious."

He shrugged, turning himself back to the gameboy. "I guess. I'm don't know. My team knows better than to mention anything in front of me."

"What, because you'd go all big bad diagnostician on their asses if they said anything?" She joked.

"Pretty much," he said. "Don't worry, Cuddy. Yes, people are talking. But they're not going to say anything to you, you know that. If you hear them talking, you know what to do."

"I guess," she accepted. "Wish me luck."

* * *

Cuddy walked into her office as if it was alien to her. Her face creased as she saw the piles of half-finished work. It was just cementing what she already knew; someone else had been doing her job. Sidling over to the desk, she glanced at the sheets. Reading the hurriedly scrawled notes, she sighed. Trust this woman to make such simple mistakes.

She saw a note reminding the temp Dean to reschedule her meeting with the insurance company. _Never _reschedule for the insurance company - especially for Atlantic Net. She picked up the note, crumpled it and threw it in the trash. She was back now, and she definitely knew what she was doing.

At that moment, a young woman burst into the office looking frazzled. "Dr Cuddy!" She squeaked. "I thought you'd be in later."

"It's eight am," she said coolly, pointing to her watch. "Got to start the day on time."

The woman nodded, hair slipping out of her messy bun. "Of course. It's such a pleasure to meet you," she breathed, running forward and holding out her hand. "Sarah Landon," she introduced herself. "I've been filling in for you, while you were..."

"Thank you," she cut in smoothly. "I've heard that you were doing a wonderful job."

She smiled gratefully. "I don't know how you've done this for so long," she said, in hushed tones. "These last four months have been the busiest of my life."

Cuddy knew it was wrong, but she decided to switch into full don't-mess-with-me-bitch mode. "It hasn't been so great for me either," she said coldly. "Unless there's anything you'd like to tell me, I think I should get to work now."

Landon swallowed. "I made a set of notes," she said in a small voice. "Should you need anything else, call me."

Cuddy nodded. She felt bad about before. "Thanks, Sarah," she smiled, placing her hand warmly on the other woman's arm. "I really appreciate it."

Landon returned the smile. "Everyone's missed you," she offered as she left the room.

Cuddy stood for a moment, alone. The silence froze. She breathed out calmly, trying to steady her beating heart. Running into the bathroom she splashed cool water on her face, trying to stave off the panic attack. Then she shook it off and got to work.

She was surprised by the speed at which she settled back into work. By 11, she was reading files and calling donors as if nothing had happened. Miraculously, many of her other donors had been so concerned with her whereabouts that they were desperate to set up a meeting. She felt a few large pity donations coming her way.

Regina popped her head in. "Dr Cuddy," she said softly, jerking Cuddy out of her paperwork.

Cuddy leaned back and smiled. "Regina," she said, getting out of her chair and embracing the woman.

"I'm glad you're alright," Regina murmured as they separated. Both knew that it barely covered the magnitude of what happened, but it was good enough. It was comforting, yet not intrusive. "House is outside," she told her. "He says he demands to speak to you. It's a matter of life or death."

She smirked. "Send him in," she beckoned. After Regina left, Cuddy made her way to her desk and waited for his explosive entrance. Sure enough, a moment later the doors flew open.

"You know, I never realised what little _gossips _your employees are," he boomed as he sat across from her. "I must have heard your name a million times since leaving my office. It's like no one has anything else to do. Why are you paying these people?"

Looking up from the file, she gave him a supercilious grin. "What do you need?" She asked.

He said nothing.

She sighed and rubbed her temples. "Regina said it was a matter of life or death."

"It is," he nodded. "My lips are _so _chapped. They'll die without your saliva."

Usually, she would have given him the finger and told him to leave her alone, smirking all the while. But this was different. They were playing by a completely different set of rules. She got up and made her way to his lap, balancing on his left leg. She was more than willing to indulge him. It wasn't as if she had _a lot _of work to do; while Landon may have been ditzy, at least she was efficient.

Moving above him, she gave him a long kiss. "You're checking up on me," she said as she pulled away.

"I'm not," he replied indignantly.

"You don't have to do that," she murmured softly.

"I'm not doing that, I'm simply saying that _a patient,_" he pointed exaggeratedly to himself, "requires some urgent oral attention."

"I'm working." She pushed him aside quickly and efficiently. She understood that he needed affection. He was like Rachel in the sense that he hated anything to change. Neither of them were particularly malleable people, and her suddenly not being home 24/7 was going to require some adjustment. Rachel had thrown mini temper tantrum that morning, on seeing her mother dressed for work. She knew those clothes and that attitude - she was not happy to be losing her mother for twelve hours a day.

She was used to her mom taking her to school and bringing her home again, and then playing with her, eating with her, bathing her and then reading to her. As she was such a little girl, she hadn't imagined this wasn't a permanent arrangement. It had been a shock to learn that her mom was leaving her - _again, _as she'd protested that morning.

House was reacting in a similar, yet totally different manner. His version of a tantrum was being clingy like a toddler to its mother. She knew he was teetering of the edge of a Rachel-esque fit - she was trying to defuse the situation without letting him know she was onto him. His chauvinistic, protective, alpha-male instincts were kicking in stronger than ever - before, at least she'd been at home where (in his mind) he could keep an eye on her. Now, she out and anyone could - as they already had - take her.

Although she appreciated his concern, she wasn't some frail old woman. She was independent and confident and didn't like having him watching her constantly, as though she might snap.

"You're not working," he scoffed. "You're sitting here just pretending to work, but secretly fantasising about being my stay-at-home-girlfriend again."

She took a deep breath. "I'm a big girl, House. And I have a lot of papers to go through. I get that you're nervous and you don't want to act like an adult and talk about it, and that's fine. But you're going to have to leave me alone now."

He looked momentarily hurt, but then his jaw set. "Fine. Sorry to bother you, _boss._"

She sighed and got back to work, trying to ignore that she'd have to deal with his pouting later.

* * *

"Knock knock."

Cuddy head snapped up and she smiled as she saw Wilson standing there. "Hey," she said softly, running around to throw her arms around him.

She'd seen him a few times since the first visit, but mainly with House present and never at a time she felt very comfortable. She assumed it was the stress of actually _seeing people _that made it so awkward for her. Here, back in her territory, she felt far happier to be hugging him.

He squeezed her gently. "It's so good to see you back."

She didn't want to start crying, so blinked furiously while wriggling out of his embrace. She gave him a shaky smile while desperately trying to compose herself. It was easy enough around acquaintances but around close friends, the urge to be herself (who at this time was vulnerable) was hard to ignore. "Isn't it?" She beamed, feeling the life infuse back into her limbs. "Listen, this weekend, my mother's going home. She doesn't know it yet, but she is. I'm going to spend Saturday evening with her. Could you entertain House for me?"

He suppressed a chuckle. "Sure. I'll take him bowling."

"Great," she grinned. "Oh and could you _possibly _take Rachel too?" She simpered.

He quirked up his lip. "Sure thing, Lisa. I hope House won't revert back to his childish ways around her," he joked. "I can barely deal with one kid."

She sat down, motioning for him to join her. "It's weird. Before, their relationship was more 'we live together, so we make peace' sort of thing. Now... She really trusts him. I don't know what he did for her while I was... gone, but it's changed them. It's wonderful, don't get me wrong, but..." She trailed off, looking to her lap.

"What? What is it?" Wilson gently prompted.

"I hate that it took me getting abducted to kickstart them into a real relationship," she admitted. "Any kind of happiness I get from the two of them liking each other will be tainted. _He _caused that. I... can't enjoy it." She shook her head sadly.

"If they can make a relationship now, it means the foundations were always there," Wilson soothed. "What happened was just the catalyst. If it hadn't been that, it would have been something else." Wilson sighed, and took her hand over the desk. "If you can't bring yourself to enjoy anything good that has a connection to what happened, this process is going to be exponentially more painful."

"I know that," she conceded. "But I want to hate him _wholly. _I don't want to owe _anything _to him. If he gave me this... How can everything he did be bad? I'm not saying it was okay, but it could sort of justify it." Cuddy rested her forehand on her hand. "I want this incident to be isolated. But it's weaving it's way into every crevice of my life. I had to take three backs already, just because I had clear my head. It was a few words in a 'welcome back' email and it made my mind wander off down memory for a full five minutes."

Wilson wanted to make it better, but he couldn't. No matter how much he wanted it, this was something he - or anyone else - couldn't fix. "I'm so sorry you had to go through this," he offered, aware that it was little consolation. "And I'm sorry it's so hard for you."

The sheen of tears was clear in her eyes. "Thank you," she rasped, coughing lightly.

* * *

Cuddy opened the door to her house just after six, having walked out early with no one trying to stop her. It was refreshing - she could walk down those halls without twenty different people requiring her attention. House had picked her up outside, his body almost itching after leaving her alone the rest of the day.

He'd brought the car round to the entrance; despite the new security measures, there was no way she was going back into the parking garage. They'd driven home with low level chatter. Not many words were needed - they were content to just _be. _

Rachel squealed as they reentered, leaping up from the game she'd been playing with Arlene. "Mommy!" She shouted, wrapping herself around Cuddy's legs. "I missed you," she crowed. Cuddy picked her up and placed her on her hip, showering her forehead with kisses.

"I know baby," she replied. "But I went to work before, and now I'm going back. I _loved _being home with you, but things couldn't stay like that forever." Rachel looked as miserable as she'd looked that morning. "Oh baby," Cuddy sighed. "I wish I could tell you what you want to hear."

Rachel nestled into her mother's creamy neck. "I love you," she said softly, almost as a reason or plead. House heard and ran a hand across Cuddy's back, knowing how this would be getting to her.

"I love you too," Cuddy replied. "Why don't I give you a nice bath then read you a couple of stories?"

Rachel perked up considerably. "Please," she beamed.

A few hours later, when the house was quiet once more and the adults were making their way to bed, Cuddy turned to House and said, "you go on. I'm going to have a quick chat with my mom."

House grinned inwardly, knowing what this was about. Outwardly, he remained solemn.

Cuddy moved over to Arlene. "Mom," she began. "I've been thinking... I really appreciate everything you've done for us the last few months. Truly, I do. I know it disrupted your life and you have barely complained and... Just thank you. I know it's not something that you'd typically want to do. But - everything's under control now. I'm working, I can sleep, I can leave the house." She felt bad as she continued, "I just don't think you need to be here all the time anymore."

Arlene didn't look shocked. "I'm surprised you lasted this long," she commented. "Look, Lisa, I know I don't say it enough but - I'm proud of you. Especially lately. You asked if I felt bad about what happened because I rarely showed it... Of course I felt - _feel_ - bad. Regardless of the past, you are my daughter. You and your sister are the two people I love most in the world. And to see someone change who you are, even for a little while... It's terrible. I hope you never have to see anything like this happen to Rachel."

Cuddy just nodded, too shocked to reply. Arlene went on, "I was so scared you'd never get over this. That this would haunt you forever. I hated to think that you would have built a life for yourself and then left it for dead." She took a deep breath. "Rachel needs a mother and House needs you more than you need him - no matter what happens to you. Hold on to him, Lisa. He loves you more than anything. I saw it when you were with that man. Every day he pined for you - he called religiously, for even the slightest bit of information." Arlene took her daughter's hands. "Without him, you'll lose someone very special. And someone who can bring you back to who you were. Don't give him a hard time for being protective - he almost lost the most important thing in his life. It's not surprising he's doing everything he can to hold onto it."

She kissed her daughter's forehead. "I love you, sweetie," she murmured.

Cuddy let a few stray tears cascade down her face. "I love you too," she whispered.

Arlene broke the moment a second later. "On the bright side, I get to leave this place. So depressing - I could use a holiday, I think. One without grumpy cripples and small children."

Cuddy smirked a little. This was more like it. "Goodnight," she said fondly, making her way to the bedroom.

As she slipped into the semi-darkness, she reminded herself of what her mother had said. She didn't want to be too hard on him. If she nearly lost him... She'd never want to let him out of her sight. He was too much to her now - she had far too much to lose. She knew that he hid behind a facade of jokes but that inside, he was hurting more than he'd ever tell her.

"Hey," she said softly, after changing into one of his T-shirts and slipping into bed next to him. "Thank you for checking up on me today. I know I was cold but... I really needed it."

He put his book down and turned off the remaining light. "Anytime," he replied, kissing her hair. "Just next time, it'd be nice to have a parting kiss."

"I'll make sure of it," she promised, curling around him and dropping off to sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N:** Yeah, I know I'm a sadist. However, I'm feeling so discouraged with House at the moment that I can't help but be attracted to my angsty story. Get ready for some super angst. You know what this story is - one step forward, ten steps back. **

* * *

"Lisa," Patrick smiled warmly from across the table, "we've set the trial date."

She took a deep breath. "When?"

"January nineteenth," he told her, eyes focused on hers.

"That's seven months," Cuddy answered, looking panicked. "It's..." She turned to look at the door. "It's not long enough. I'm not ready."

Patrick glanced at the floor for a second and then brought Cuddy's gaze back to him. "You'll be fine. I'll prep you for the stand myself. You shouldn't be testifying for more than a few hours. You can do it."

She nodded. "Don't you need to do a preliminary hearing or something?"

"They're usually to determine if we have enough evidence to go to trial. We just had a hearing in the Judge's chambers - he moved it to trial in two minutes."

"Right," she said absentmindedly. "He'll be there?"

"Yes," Patrick said delicately. "At the defense table. On the other side of the room. You can just look over to the prosecution, and I'll keep your attention on me. We'll prepare for the questions I'll ask you, and then there'll be the cross-examination. For someone like you, it'll be a piece of cake," he smiled as warmly as the situation warranted. "If you want, House can be there."

"No," she said emphatically. "He's not coming into that room."

Patrick nodded. "Is everything... okay between you two? There are options. I can get you a couple's therapist, talk to him myself...?" He sighed. "It's important that you have a support system."

"He's supportive," she told him. "He's just... sad. About all this."

"Does he have someone to talk to?"

"He had someone, a few years ago. I've suggested he go back, but he doesn't seem keen. He doesn't want to admit that this isn't easy for him." She felt her BlackBerry buzz in her pocket, and quickly hit ignore. "He's not going in that courtroom."

"Okay," Patrick said, making a note on his legal pad. He suddenly looked grave. "I have one more thing to tell you about."

"Shoot," she said, forcing a fake smile.

"We've found some new evidence," he told her slowly. "Lisa - he took some... videos." He watched as her face paled. "I... We're going to need to play them in court. You're going to need to identify yourself."

"No. No no no no no," her eyes widened. "Okay, I can handle a trial. I can handle the flashbacks and the nightmares, and I can handle the crap that comes with this. I..." Her eyes welled up. She realised that no matter what she said, or how she felt, she _had _to do this. She had to watch those videos in that courtroom, and say clearly, "that is me." She had no choice but to grin and bear it. "And I can handle this too," she finished, surprising Patrick. "Don't worry. I won't let you down."

He looked pleasantly surprised. "Thank you. I know you won't."

"I have to go," she replied shakily. "I'll see you soon."

Patrick handed her a disk. "The first time you see that video cannot be when you're on the stand. Don't let this out of your sight."

She looked horrified. "_This _is it?"

"You need to watch it," he told her carefully and honestly. "You need to be able to look at that video for long enough that people believe you've recognised yourself in it."

Her hand shook as she took the tape. She walked out without another word.

* * *

Cuddy called in to PPTH as she drove back to hers and told them she was taking the day off. As soon as she got into the house she poured herself a glass of scotch, taking a few large gulps. She turned off her phone before it had the chance to ring.

She sat in front of her laptop for a few minutes before she could bring herself to even open it. She logged in and stared blankly at her home screen, the DVD burning a hole in bag.

Her head swam. She had no idea he'd taken videos. She'd seen no camera, no phone. No nothing. To think that those lawyers had been watching this film for months made her sick. She was shaky and her hands trembled, creating ripples in her drink. She couldn't bring herself to even get the disc out of her bag. Sighing slowly, she leaned back on her chair. The house was eerily quiet now that her mother had gone home, Rachel was back in full-time school and House was working full time again. She hadn't realised how fractured their lives had become in the past months. Everything had been off-kilter slightly, though she'd been too blind to notice. She didn't blame herself for a modicum of self involvement but she couldn't help but feel like she was missing some things.

Like when Rachel would come home squealing with delight about a goal scored in soccer, and try as she might Cuddy couldn't get her own screams out of her head long enough to listen. Rachel would sulk a little but get over it pretty quickly, having become used to it. Although she was so much better, so much _happier, _there were some days where nothing would go right, and her body would feel alien to her. House's touch would burn and Rachel's youthful screeches would reverberate through her brain, transporting her back to the basement.

It wasn't as if happiness was fleeting. Quite the opposite - the new, protective and attentive side of House was making for some wonderful days together, and almost losing Rachel had made both of them appreciate spending time together. Rachel desired her mother's attention more than ever, and Cuddy would reciprocate as best she could.

She knew that the family dynamic had changed. House valued Cuddy more, and vice versa. Rachel trusted House in a way that she never had before and House was far more tolerant that he had ever been. If anything, she should use that knowledge to make herself happier. To see the good coming from the bad.

Usually she could. And Rachel's giggle or the smell of her little-girl neck or waking up with her head on House's chest and his arms cradling her would just remind her that there was so much good in the world, in _her _world. And regardless of the speed-bumps, she would never not be glad to be there. To know that she would see her daughter graduate from high school, and walk down the aisle, and hold a grandchild... All that was good enough to make her smile.

And then she would be pulled viciously back to the present. To an empty room with a terrifying DVD in it. She picked her fingernail softly, and then reached into her bag. Like Patrick had said, she needed to identify herself on the video. She _had _to. And the only way to do it would be to suck it up.

She pushed the disc into her computer, hand shaking. She stared, anxiously, waiting for the window to appear. Before she had the chance to react the picture was right in front of her eyes. There she was, battered and bruised all over again. Tears ran down her face like water as she watched him pull her up onto the bed he sometimes used, tying her obviously injured wrists to the headboard.

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. She couldn't believe that this had once been her. She looked so... _defeated. _Utterly submissive and with absolutely no control.

She was stunned for a second. The video kept playing but she was no longer watching, her mind was processing what she'd just seen. The way her arms flopped like a rag doll and she fell apart, whimpering softly and putting up no fight.

In that moment, she hated herself.

* * *

House pulled into the driveway, limping slowly up to the house while finishing off a chocolate bar he stole from Taub. He walked in and saw Marina cooking calmly, Rachel doing a homework sheet at the table, legs swinging. She looked up with delight as he slammed the door behind him.

"House!" She jumped up and attached herself to his left leg, spinning. "I need you to help me with my math homework."

He glanced at the sheet. "Dude, use your hands. It's the seven times table."

She pouted. "I get to thirty five and get stuck."

"If only the female race was like that," he joked, smirking at Marina's disapproving look. "Where's the elder Cuddy?" He asked, sniffing at the air to smell the pasta sauce. "I looked into her office when I left and she wasn't there."

"She's lying down," Marina told him. "She looked pale when I got here with Rachel, and so she took a few tylenol and is trying to sleep."

He frowned. She'd been fine that morning. Despite Rachel's pleas for the answer to six times seven, he made his way to their bedroom, not bothering to knock before barging in. Cuddy jumped a little at the sudden noise, but didn't look up. "I'm sleeping," she murmured. "Leave me alone."

He laid his cool palm across her forehead. "You don't have a fever," he stated. "You're not sick."

"I didn't say I was, I said I was sleeping. You've got to listen, House," she mumbled half into the pillow.

He squeezed her shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I've had a billion things to do this week and not enough time to do it - it's not surprising I'd be stressed." She yawned and rolled over, smiling serenely as House began to card through her hair. Nudging her gently, House prompted her to make room for him next to her. She moved over and then moulded herself into his warmth, feeling herself relax.

House had always been perceptive to her needs; he knew when she needed him. The difference was that now, he'd stop and actually give her what she needed, as opposed to walking away.

She pressed a kiss to his ribs through his t-shirt. "Do you think I'm weak?" She asked quietly, reticently.

He sighed. "No, I don't. I don't think anyone else does either." He acted as though it was no big question, nothing to be concerned about.

"I've never thought I was either," she muttered. "I know I'm not, most of the time... But then..."

He poked her arm. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a mind reader. You're going to have to tell me if something's bothering you."

Cuddy paused. If she told him the truth, he would demand to see the video. No matter what she said, he'd insist. He'd wear her down until she had no choice but to just let him, to make her own life easier. And then he'd become introverted, angry, argumentative. He'd never forget what he'd seen and he'd spend _months _brooding over it until one of them snapped.

Ergo, she couldn't tell him the truth.

"Oh nothing," she shrugged, sitting up a little. "Just the normal crazy today. Not enough sleep, bad nightmare, headache - I'm fine. It's just one of those days."

He nodded, accepting her explanation. He sniffed the air suddenly and then caressed her butt a few times. "Grub's up."

"You can't possibly know that," she scoffed.

"Mommy!" Rachel's voice echoed down the hall. "Dinner!"

"Can't I?" He replied smugly.

"You're an ass," she joked, kissing him softly. She knew quite clearly now that her anxiety levels went down and her calm levels went up when she was around him. The laptop was forgotten, what she'd seen was slowly disappearing from her brain. It didn't matter that had happened to her; she was still here, with a family that loved her. She'd survived that hellish ordeal - she shouldn't feel bad about it. She should rejoice that she was still living and breathing, able to experience what so many of his other victims couldn't. She _should_ feel lucky.

So why did she feel like giving up?

* * *

Cuddy picked at the pasta on the plate, her fork halfheartedly spearing the food. House could see the exhaustion in her eyes. But, no, it was more than that. She looked more than exhausted, she looked... beaten down. As if everything had got to her.

The dinner was eaten and cleared away quickly. Rachel was bathed and read to and tucked in bed all before nine and as Cuddy left her daughter's bedroom, House saw her go straight to their room and collapse on the bed. He followed her. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asked worriedly.

She nodded, but didn't roll over. He sat on the bed. "Talk to me."

She turned a little. "About what?"

"Tell me... what's going on in your head," he said, stroking her hair. "You're upset about something, that much is obvious."

She didn't say anything for a minute. His features creased. He was about to ask again when she sat up and grabbed his shoulders. "Let's go out."

"What?"

"Let's call Wilson and get him to come and watch Rachel. We should go out," she nodded emphatically. House tried to gauge what was happening. She sounded like that's what she wanted, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Lisa - "

"I'm serious. We've spent so much time inside lately - we should go out on a date, just the two of us." She smiled widely, as if trying to be convincing.

"We've already eaten," House pointed out gently, not wanting to crush her newfound exuberance.

"Fine," she capitulated. A gleam came to her eyes. "Let's stay in, then," she purred. She moved over and began kissing him roughly, her hands curling into his shirt collar. She then wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts into his chest, while starting to massage him through his trousers.

House leaned into the kiss for a second, enjoying the feel of her tongue against his. But as soon as he felt her hand on his pants, he pulled away. "Woah, woah..."

She stopped too. "What?" She asked breathily. "Don't you want this?"

What kind of a question was _that? __Of course _he wanted this. His body _ached _for her. It had been almost five months since they'd sex, since before she'd been abducted. As soon as she'd touched his crotch his cock had hardened and was _straining _for her touch. But... this wasn't about him. It didn't matter how badly he wanted to have sex with her.

This was out of character. The fact he could recognise that meant that he had to decipher it.

"Do _you _want this?" He asked.

"Yes," she nodded. "That's why I'm doing it," she explained, chuckling a little. "House, I want you."

He sat for a moment, taking her hand in his. "I want you too," he replied, though it was clear he was still hesitant. "It's just..."

"_What?_" She asked, exasperated.

"You only just became comfortable with kissing me," he said quickly. "Cuddy, I want you so badly. But I'm not going to... _push _you into this. I want you to want this."

"I _do _want this!" She said loudly, pulling him to her again.

"Cuddy, last night you woke up twice after nightmares, crying and saying that "you were living it all over again." You can't expect me to believe that you would suddenly be okay us having sex." She looked into her lap, and House saw embarrassment flit across her eyes. "Hey," he said tenderly, wrapping his arms around her. "Don't think I don't want you. Trust me, I do. I will _always _want you. But if we do this when _you're _not ready... Who knows what that could do to us? You know how bad it can be - I never want anything we do to remind you of that. Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay," she said quietly, voice hoarse.

"Do you... Do you want to talk?" He said softly, stroking her palm with his thumb.

"Yes," she replied easily. "But... I _can't._" He saw her eyes cloud over. "I _can't _talk about it."

He kissed her forehead. "It's okay," he told her gently.

"Even with Foster," she admitted. "I try, and it's like my throat closes up."

He wiped away a few tears with the pads of his thumbs. "That's normal."

"_No, _it _isn't. _It's normal for... trauma victims. But not for normal _people. _That's why I wanted us to be together, tonight. I want to feel _normal _again." She shook her head, and lay down on her pillow. "Lucky for me, I get the one guy who decides to have a completely un-male reaction to being propositioned with sex."

He chuckled a little. "Worried I'm replacing you with this guy?" He joked, waggling his right hand at her.

"Stop it," she chided. He gently spooned around her. "I would talk if I could. I want to get past it," she whispered.

"You will," he said into her hair. He used his hands to gently roll her over. "Listen to me: Give it some time, and you and I will be back to our fucking-once-a-day life. It will be great. It will be _normal,_" he smiled, pressing his lips to her nose. "But anyway, remember what you told me when we started dating? 'Common is boring'? Cuddy, the same is true now."

"You're saying this is _interesting _for you?" She asked, a cold edge to her voice.

He sighed and said hurriedly. "No. I'm not. Don't overreact."

Then he winced, knowing that they were certainly the wrong words to say.

"I'm not overreacting," she snapped. "You don't _know _how I feel, you don't know what I'm dealing with. I just said that I have trouble talking about it and your solution is to tell me I'm overreacting?"

At this point Cuddy was sitting up, fuming. House blinked, not quite sure how the conversation turned into a fight so quickly. "No... I meant that you shouldn't want everything to go back to being _normal, _because we have never been normal. And normal - or what you seem to be thinking of as normal - is overrated. That's all. And I _didn't _want us to fight about it, hence, don't overreact."

He thought he'd successfully diffused the situation until he saw her bottom lip tremble. He looked at her mournfully. "What is it?" He asked, as gently as he could.

She shook her head like a stubborn child. "Leave me alone," she said hoarsely, getting up to pad into the bathroom.

"Cuddy!" He shouted after her. When she didn't reappear, he followed her. She was sitting on the edge of the tub, her eyes flitting about the room and her knuckles white. He sat against the door and stared silently at her. She didn't look up at him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She didn't respond.

"I don't always know what to say," he continued. "I'm trying. I'm just not very good at this."

Still without meeting his gaze, she slid off her perch and curled up beside with her head in his lap. "I miss my dad," she whispered.

As his hand covered her smooth hair, House could see her as a young girl again. She'd lost weight over the past four months anyway so was more petite than usual, and her hand was gripping his calf in a distinctly childlike way. He would be the first to admit that he didn't understand what she was dealing with. And although he'd never met her father, he had heard enough from her about him to know that they'd had a very strong bond.

"He'd know what to do." She spoke again. "He'd always say the right thing."

House wasn't sure if that was a jab at him or not. However, the way she was leaning into his touch suggested not. "He was always good at helping me with tough decisions."

That made House pause. "What tough decision are you making?"

She froze. Her heart pounded. She wanted to tell him... She _really really _wanted to. "Don't get mad," she blurted out. "But... Well... It's not even really a decision..." She stuttered and tripped over her words. "This is really hard," she whimpered, voice cracking. "I hate feeling this way."

He lifted her up so her head was resting on his chest. He didn't speak. He wanted her to get the words out.

"I met with Patrick today," she said softly. "The trial's on January nineteenth."

He nodded. "You'll be f - "

"And he said that I've got to be ready to... uh... watch this video and... identify myself," she sputtered. "He... he videoed it, House. And I saw it and..." She sat up, rigid. "I'm going to be sick," she choked, throwing her head over the toilet.

House was shocked. The familiar anger he'd been keeping at bay began rising in him again. "What?" He said lowly, anger clear in his voice. She looked over, face pale and sweaty. "He did _what?_"

She put her hands over her face. "I looked so... defeated. I just gave him... I _let _him to do it. I let him r - "

"No," House interrupted. "I can't." He rubbed his palm across his forehead. "He did _what?_" He repeated, anger bubbling inside him.

Cuddy started to cry. She felt so _disgusted. _Of all the things... It was _immortalised. _She only had to look over to House to remind herself of how sick it was. As she crawled over to him, he stood up. "Can you do it?" He asked, taking her face in his hands. "Can you identify yourself?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes," she answered.

"You do it," he ordered. "Cuddy," he implored as he pulled her up to standing, "you have to do it. You to have _destroy _him in court."

"I will," she promised, though her voice was shaking.

He pulled her into a hug. "I'm so sorry," he said in her ear. "I am so sorry," he repeated, her face in her hair. His breaths felt hot and shallow on her neck. She was pretty sure he was crying, which in turn made her cry harder. When he pulled away, though, his eyes were dry, albeit a little red. He kissed her forehead. "You will kill him in that room," he whispered against her skin. "You put him away for the rest of his miserable life."

"He won't stand a chance against me," she agreed. "But... It's so _hard._"

He didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry," he replied lamely. "You know that I _hate _everything he did to you." House thought back to the photos he'd seen broadcast across the television. The pig eyes and the sneer. His hate swelled.

He looked into her beautiful eyes. She looked so innocent and yet, so damaged. Her eyes revealed pain now in a way that House rarely saw in people. "I can't stand having that tape in our house," she whispered.

He nodded. "Did you watch it?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you need to watch it again?"

"No," she said emphatically. "I'm only going to watch that one more time."

"Get it for me and I'll take it back right now," he told her. "You won't have to have it here tonight."

* * *

Cuddy sat on the couch with her knees knocking as she waited for House to come home. She'd thrown the disc at him like it had been made of hot coals. Her hands were tapping out a pattern on the couch.

"Mommy?"

Cuddy's head snapped up. "Oh hey honey," she smiled. "Bad dream?"

Rachel shook her head. "I heard you crying," she said bashfully.

"Oh..." Cuddy waved her daughter over. "Come here baby."

Rachel curled up on Cuddy's lap. "I know it when you cry," she mumbled. "I don't like it."

Cuddy felt like she couldn't take the emotions that had been thrown at her that day. After everything, now her baby daughter was piling it on? "I am so... so... sorry," Cuddy forced out, kissing Rachel's cheeks. "It's tough, I know. But... Mommy loves you," she whimpered plaintively. "So much," she wept, tears rolling down her face. "I just... I need a break, honey. I know you're sad. But I need you to be happy. We need to be happy together."

"But... you're not," Rachel pointed out glumly. "I'm scared that..." She then also burst into noisy sobs. "I'm scared that you'll go away again and not come back."

Cuddy couldn't handle it. She knew her daughter needed her and that that was part of being a mother but... She couldn't do this. All she wanted to do was sleep and never wake up. "Wait here," she said to Rachel. "Just stay here for a minute."

"Mommy!" Rachel wailed, chasing her mother through the house.

"Rachel!" Cuddy snapped. "Go and sit on the couch and wait for House."

"Mom," Rachel whimpered as Cuddy opened the door. She cried as stroked Rachel's cheek.

"I need a walk," she told her daughter. "Just wait here."

She raced out of the house, eyes streaming, heart thumping and head screaming. Although she knew rationally that she was being a terrible mother, she couldn't stop. It was like her body wasn't listening to her mind anymore. Visions of that video were racing through her head, of everything he did and said. She grabbed her head and tried to shake the thoughts out but it didn't work.

She just kept walking, as her chest kept tightening.

* * *

Before House opened the door he could hear the hysterical crying. "Shit," he mumbled under his breath, assuming it was Cuddy. After fumbling with the keys he let himself in with a bang. "Cuddy?"

"House!" Rachel leapt up, wailing copiously. She threw herself into his arms.

"Hey, hey," he said, bemused, stroking her back awkwardly. "What's wrong kid?"

"Mo-mo-mommy left!" She cried. "Hoooouse," she wailed, little chest heaving.

House froze. "She _left?_"

Rachel nodded. "Wentforawalk!" She wailed in a jumble.

"When?" He demanded. Rachel just cried harder. "Rach, _when. _I need you to tell me."

"I-I-I don't know," she said, hiccuping.

"Come on," House said, dragging her out of the house behind him and almost throwing her in the back of the car. The scene was eerily similar to one from the night Cuddy was abducted.

House sped off into the dark, searching the roadside with his eyes. Rachel was still snivelling in the back. His heart was pounding, he was so scared. She always been his strong woman but tonight...

She'd looked like she might really hurt herself.

He called her cell over and over, but her voicemail kicked in every time. Rachel could sense his panic. "House," she asked in a small voice, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said hurriedly.

_Hi, this is Lisa Cuddy, leave a message. _

"Cuddy, it's me. Fuck, pick up your phone. Look, where the fuck are you? I know you're upset. You left Rachel which means this is bad. Please, Cuddy. Don't... hurt yourself. I love you," he said, snapping the phone shut.

There was a tense silence. "You said a bad word," Rachel whispered.

"I don't give a _fucking fuck, _Rachel," House yelled. Her eyes widened and she gripped herself seatbelt tighter.

House kept speeding, his pulse racing. He thought of all the places she might be. _She could be anywhere. Anyone could have her. She's alone, upset, and vulnerable. _

_It already happened once. _

He tried to stop the onslaught of dangerous thoughts and tried to think logically. _She wants to calm down. _He took a sharp right and headed toward the park. He knew she'd walked down there a few times by the water by herself. He took a deep breath as he pulled up to the gate. _Please, please._

"Come on," he grumbled to Rachel, placing her on his hip. He sped through the open gate and down to the water. "Cuddy!" He shouted. He couldn't see her. His leg was cramping terribly. As he got a few metres away from the water's edge, he put Rachel down and span around wildly. "Cuddy!" He roared. His eyes darted around the park.

"Mommy," Rachel whispered, her eyes trained on a spot about twenty metres away. House whipped round to stare at the same spot, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw a figure a little way off the waterside.

"Jesus," he exhaled. "Lise," he shouted, limping over as fast as could. Rachel followed him warily, her bare feet freezing on the ground. He dropped down beside her, his relief evident on his face. "Jeez woman," he almost wept, "you scared the crap out of me."

Her face was pasty and tear-streaked. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

Something was wrong. He knocked her shoulder gently. "Lisa?"

She was breathily heavily. "Yeah?" She said after a while. He watched her eyes. They were crying, but she clearly wasn't aware.

He felt her forehead. She was hot. "Are you sick?" He asked.

Her eyes were glazed. "Idunno," she slurred.

He swallowed, a thick lump in his throat. "Did you... take anything?"

She looked at him. Her eyes were empty, vacant. She burst into noisy sobs. "I-I-I'm so-o-o tired," she wept. "I-I need a goo-ood night's-s slee-eep."

He gave her cheek a quick kiss. "I'm going to get you it," he whispered in her ear and lifted her carefully up to standing. "I can't carry you," he told her. "Walk with me."

He glanced at Rachel. He'd never seen a child look so scared. "Rach, mom's alright. Come with us." He took a deep breath. "We're going to take her to the hospital."

Slightly dazed, the three of them made their way to the car.

* * *

House parked the car in the hospital garage. "Cuddy, wake up," he ordered, gently hitting her thigh. She startled awake. "Okay," House started, "I think - "

"No, no," she started panicking. "Get me out of here."

"Look, I had no choice. You _must _understand that."

"No," she started hyperventilating. "This... this place. Get. Me. Out."

Then House realised. Shit. She hadn't been back in this garage since _that night. _"Okay, right, shit. I messed up. Close your eyes. I'll take you round the front and - "

"Are you admitting me?" She snapped.

"You need to sleep," he tried to reason.

"I'm not _crazy,_" she practically shouted. Rachel whimpered. "Shut up." She started to weep exasperatedly.

"Cuddy, stop," House implored. She shut her eyes and sighed.

"Get me out of this place," she mumbled. House started the car and drove back to the drop-off point. He put the car in park. "Now," Cuddy said lowly, "take me home."

"No," House said, with a sharp edge to his voice. "I'm taking you inside."

"No," she whimpered. "Please, House."

"You need to sleep," he told her calmly. "You... aren't okay, Cuddy. Just come inside with me."

"_I'm not crazy,_" she told him. "I'm getting better."

"You're not," he whispered. "At least, not right now. It wasn't right for you to have to watch that video. You had to pretend to be strong for everyone. But that wasn't fair. Just come inside and get a good night's sleep. You deserve it."

She wiped her eyes and sniffed. "I don't want everyone to think that I gave up."

"You haven't. You just need a break." He stroked her face. "Come inside."

"Okay," she finally acquiesced. She look back at Rachel. "I'm so sorry baby," she cried. "So sorry. I just couldn't... I love you."

"Let's get you inside," House said softly. "Right Rach?"

She nodded. "Love you momma," she said, in a tiny voice.

Carefully, House helped Cuddy inside. He saw Wilson at the front desk. "I need a bed," he murmured. Wilson looked between House, Cuddy and Rachel. "Now," House warned. Wilson nodded.

"I've got this," he said to House, and the two of them led Cuddy to a private room.

* * *

"House," she murmured, just after Wilson had inserted the drip. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he whispered, squeezing her hand. "Just let the sedative work its magic."

She nodded before drifting off into sleep. House leant back on the couch, Rachel curled up sleeping at one end. "Long night?" Wilson asked as House ran his hands over his face.

House groaned. "Yeah," he answered dryly.

Wilson stumbled, "what happened?"

"He videoed her," House replied freely. "And then the lawyer gave her video to watch. Alone. It's too much for one person, Wilson. She's still reeling from the shock of it all and yet she's back at work, back to never giving herself a break. I _told _her she wasn't ready - she's not fucking superwoman. She left Rachel, screaming and alone. She wouldn't have done that if she wasn't at the end of her tether."

"You think she wanted to hurt herself?" Wilson asked slowly.

"No idea," House said sadly. "She said she wanted a good night's sleep. She's just hurt, _everywhere. _Inside and out. And I can't stop it. I can't help her. She can't even talk about it - "

"You're doing everything you can," Wilson assured him.

"Doesn't matter," he negated. "She's in pain and there's nothing I can do. What does that make me?"

"_Human,_" Wilson promised. "We'll all help her, House. We'll get her out of work, on stronger meds. You can... take her on holiday. Give her a couple of weeks on a beach with no distractions. You're right; we all just assumed she could handle everything and that was wrong. We just... can't comprehend what she went through. What that feels like."

Wilson could see the anguish on House's face. "It's okay, House. She will be okay."

"I feel like we're back at square one," he admitted. "Rock bottom."

"Maybe so," Wilson agreed. "But from there, the only way is up."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I know a lot of you are Spectrum readers and wanting an update, but I'm currently drawn to this story and there's not much I can to do to change my muse! I realise that I don't send out PM review replies - unless there's a direct question in the review - but I want you all to know that I really appreciate you all as my wonderful readers and as happy as I am to write for myself, I like writing for you too. **

**One tiny change: A few chapters ago, I said that the trial would be on January 19th. However, when I thought about the rough timeline, I realised that Cuddy would have been found in January/February and after checking the following realised that at the point she said that "that's only four months away" it would not be four months, but seven. So yeah - it's not October in the Soldier-verse, it's May. **

* * *

As the morning light streamed through the window onto the hospital bed, Wilson entered the room. House was sitting in a chair by Cuddy's bed, his eyes trained on her sleeping form. His skin looked haggard and he looked utterly defeated. His leg was propped up on the edge of Cuddy's bed and his hand was absentmindedly massaging the damaged muscle. It was as if he was taking a break from battle, and preparing for the war.

Wilson tapped his shoulder gently and held out a coffee cup as a peace offering. "Double-shot espresso. I thought you could use a little kick."

"Thanks," he replied gruffly, taking a long gulp.

Wilson moved over and checked her IV. "You want me to stop the sedative?"

House thought for a minute and rubbed his stubble pensively. "No. Keep her asleep. I can't deal with her yet."

Wilson pulled up a chair. "What happened?" He asked gently.

House took another sip of coffee. "I don't even know. I thought she was okay - or at least coping. And then she went to lie down with a headache. I knew that something was wrong, I tried to get her to talk to me. She started babbling and then she tried to have sex with me and then... she started crying. She told me..." House tapered off, pressing his fist into his forehead. "He videoed it. And she had to watch it."

"House - "

"Don't," House warned. "Don't. I can't think about it. If I think about it, I will go insane." Wilson didn't continue, so House kept rambling. "Her lawyer gave her a copy to watch at home. She's got to be able to watch it in court, in front of _him. _She gave it to me - I said I'd take it back. I couldn't have that video in our house."

"Please tell me you didn't kill her lawyer," Wilson interjected.

"I didn't get to the firm. I snapped it into pieces, threw it out the window and drove back over it. A few times." He glanced at the cup. "Any chance you have some whiskey I could add to this?"

"If there's any here, it'll be in your office."

House shrugged. "Probably good that I can't get any. I feel like if I start drinking I won't be able to stop until I forget that I even exist." Wilson patted him on the shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "Anyway, I got home and Rachel was screaming. Cuddy had just... walked off. She'd _left _her daughter. Wilson, no matter what, Rachel is the one thing that Cuddy hasn't given up on. She _wouldn't _leave her. Not like that."

"She probably needed to clear her head," Wilson supplied.

"I guess," House agreed, his voice weary. "Doesn't matter. I don't know what to do, Wilson. I spend so much time trying not to think about it or ignoring the things I do know that I convince myself that she doesn't feel it that badly." He put his head in his hands. "It would be so different if it had been a different assault. If it had been one time, an isolated event from a stranger. If he hadn't been a murdering serial rapist. If he hadn't been a sociopath. If he hadn't premeditated it and hunted her down." He looked up, pain glinting in his irises. "I can't believe I'm deciding under what circumstances it would have been best for my girlfriend to be attacked."

"Stop beating yourself up," Wilson told him gently.

"Its true, though. So many tiny, inconsequential details made it _so _bad. Past plain old horrific, and into the realm of sadistic torture." His voice was quiet. "I don't even know what he did. She won't tell me, and let's face it, I can't hear it." He paused. "Sometimes I wish she'd been walking home and some intoxicated punk had come out of nowhere and... you know. If it had _had _to happen, that would have been easier to deal with. But now... She thinks she did something. He _chose _her. Something about her... _excited _him. And she doesn't want to be herself."

He blew out a breath. "She thinks her personality got her raped. But she's wrong. Her personality is why she survived."

"Have you told her any of that?" Wilson asked.

For the first time in their talk, House actually looked ashamed. "I find it impossible," he whispered, his voice gravelly. "I ask her to talk, but... I just get mad. Everything I hear makes me want to hunt him down and _kill him. _I know it's not entirely my fault she doesn't want to talk about it, but I don't help. I just don't think I'd be any more help if every time she tried to tell how she feels and _why _I throw something."

"Doesn't she have a therapist?" Wilson inquired.

"Sure. She says she can't talk about it with her," he answered. "Even if I offered, I don't think she'd be able to talk about it with me." He looked over to her, sleeping like an angel. "She's going to wake up soon and she's going to hate me. When she finds out that I told Sanford Wells that she's taking a leave of absence and sent Rachel to her sister's for a few days she's going to blow a fuse. I just... can't hear her tell me she's fine one more time when I saw her face last night. It was like she wasn't even there. She looked like a junkie who'd OD'd."

"I did a tox screen," Wilson informed him. "There were no drugs in her system. She didn't take anything."

"That's even worse," House exclaimed. "Her mind _alone _made her look like a ghost."

They both looked over to the sleeping woman. Her eyelids were gently flickering, signalling a nightmare, though neither would admit they knew that. She looked tiny in the hospital bed. She'd lost weight while she'd been in the basement and even more since she'd been rescued. She was still beautiful, but now more fragile and delicate than ever. House knew she worked hard to keep herself skinny, but he'd always thought she looked glorious with a bit of meat on her. She looked... sick. He hated that.

He took her hand and began stroking her thumb without even realising. Wilson watched his devoted gaze and knew that he was the one who had stop him from staving off the inevitable. "You should wake her up," he prompted. "You should tell her all the things you just told me." House didn't look over. "House, remember how you felt when you didn't know if she was coming back or not? Surely nothing can be worse than that."

House didn't speak for a minute. "You'd think so," he mused. "But honestly? Having her here and yet knowing that - so far, at least - she's still down there, with him... That she hasn't really come back to me, yet... It's worse. It hurts more. I can see her, but... she's not really there."

"Give her time," Wilson stressed.

"That's what I've been doing," he replied, exasperated. "And look what happened? She snapped."

They fell back into silence. The IV slowly dripped and Cuddy's chest raised and fell, reassuring House that her heart was still beating. He knew he had to put everything into perspective. She was _alive. _And as difficult it was to see her struggling, she wasn't dead. He hadn't had to stand in the cold while her coffin was lowered into the ground. The same man who had taken her had killed eight other women - there were eight other families out there that would never be as lucky as House was right then. They would have done anything to have their wives and girlfriends and mothers snap and be hospitalised, because at least they'd have the opportunity to get better.

It was so messed up, but, really, he was _lucky. She_ was lucky_. _

He stroked the smooth curve of her hand once more - he couldn't keep her asleep forever. He looked over to Wilson. "Wake her up," he ordered softly.

Wilson stopped the sedative flowing through the IV and left the room, with a final consoling shoulder pat to House. House leaned back in the chair, put his feet on the bed and waited for her to wake up.

* * *

Her eyes were hazy as she finally came to. She flipped over in the bed in the midst of a stretch, and came face to face with House. His face was ashen and his brow furrowed. Something about his expression made him look older than his years and incredibly world-weary. She knew she'd fucked up last night... the fact she'd now been admitted to hospital was proof enough of that.

As much as she wanted to ignore the previous night, she knew she couldn't do that to her family. If she now fought House on everything and repeated "I'm fine" all the time - no matter how much she wanted to - it wouldn't be fair. She needed help. If anything, last night had made it easier. She didn't have to ask for help anymore, they knew she needed it.

Months of pretending that she wasn't struggling had taken it out of her. Her mask had been so permanently fixed on her face that she'd forgotten how to take it off. That's why the pain she'd felt when watching the video was so intense - she'd been repressing the feelings so successfully that she'd forgotten they even existed. She made a vow then to not hide anymore... But she knew that she'd break it. That she couldn't open herself up like. She didn't want to attack House for trying to help her, but she couldn't help it.

House's eyes met hers and she gave him a weak smile. "Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he replied, voice soft.

She shifted a little on the bed so she could be closer to him. "House," she whispered, not looking him in the eye, "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to get better."

"That's okay," he replied, kissing her forehead. "I don't know what to do either. You don't have to know - we can figure it out together."

She nodded imperceptibly. "I can't thank you enough for doing this with me."

He scoffed. "Like you could do it without me," he said sarcastically. "I'm the pinnacle of strength."

She gave him a small smile. "I know you're joking, but you're not so far off."

He returned the sympathetic smile. "I love you so much, you know that, right?"

"I know you do," she said. "I love you, too."

Her eyes drifted shut once again and House leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. He realised after a few minutes that she had fallen asleep - the sedatives must still be working their way out of her system.

Watching her chest rise and fall, House felt so protective of her. He didn't want to sound soppy - though, at this point, he'd stopped really caring - but the more and more she seemed to lose her grip, the more he loved her. The more he wanted to be there to pull her back up.

He resolved that this time, he would do better. He would stop turning a blind eye to her unhappiness because it was too hard for him to hear. He would stop bombarding her with hugs and affection to make her forget that he was avoiding what had happened. He hated to admit it - but all the sweetness he'd been displaying had been partly to stop her asking questions, to stop her wanting to tell all about it. No, no more.

He stroked her hair lightly. He would _really _help her. He was going to be the one waking up next to her every morning for the rest of their lives and it wouldn't do either of them a damn good if, thirty years later, he was still letting her be miserable because of _his _feelings.

He thought about what he could do. There were the obvious ones: 1) Get her out of work (which he'd already done). To be fair, he'd known from the beginning that her going to work just two months after was a mistake. 2) Find her a new therapist. Clearly, the one she had wasn't working. He wasn't sure how they could find a better one, but they would. He'd personally interview every therapist in the state if he had to. 3) He should encourage her to talk to him about what happened. As soon as he'd thought that, he actually shuddered. _He didn't want to know. He NEVER wanted to hear those things. He couldn't imagine anything worse that hearing all the horrifying things she'd been through and knowing he'd done nothing to stop it. _

He shook his head and just wanted to cry. He couldn't believe that this where they'd ended up. Five years of happiness and the one day... It was all turned upside down. The last six months had passed in a haze. Just seven months ago none of this had happened - it was thought that, for some reason, House just couldn't quite believe. Seven months... it was so _recent. _House sighed.

Maybe Wilson was right. Maybe she needed a holiday. Somewhere warm with a beach and a spa. He imagined her lying on a sun lounger, soaking up the sun, a lazy smile drifting onto her face. He nodded infinitesimally. He look into getting some tickets.

Suddenly, his pager went off. He cast her one last look before getting up and leaving the room.

* * *

Chase, Foreman and Taub were all sitting around the table, lost. Their patient was dying - his symptoms were a seemingly unrelated constellation of utter confusion and they were no closer to connecting the heart murmur to the kidney failure to the bleeding tear ducts that they were a week ago, when they'd taken the case. Taub had paged House with the hope that he would reply, but he didn't really think that he'd turn up. The diagnostician had rarely been in the last few months, and even when he was bouncing his ball at his desk, his head wasn't really in it.

Considering all of this, the three were all surprised when House entered the outer office a few minutes later. "Alright," he yawned, clapping his hands. "Who's dying?"

The three stared. "That... was quick," Taub noted.

"I've been perfecting my teleporting," he replied. "Do you need me or not? 'Cause I have somewhere I could be."

His team looked him up and down. His eyes were red and dark, his hand was shaking every so slightly on his cane and his coat was hanging off him. Although he was trying to be snarky, they could see they nervousness in his eyes. Something was wrong. "Is everything alright with Cuddy?" Foreman asked tentatively.

"Yep," House said shortly. "She's fine."

There was a cold silence. "Did you page me to see my handsome face, or is someone actually sick?" He snarked.

"Thirty five year old man, heart murmur, liver and kidne - " Chase began to explain, but House snatched the file out of his hands and read it himself. Foreman raised his eyebrows at House's aggressive behaviour.

"Have you run an ANA?" House asked. "An STD panel? ECG?"

Chase shot a quick look to Taub. "Uh... We haven't done all of them yet."

House sighed exaggeratedly and pressed the file to his forehead. "And why not?"

"Because - "

"Because you're _morons,_" he supplied. "If all else fails, bombard with tests. Have you learned _nothing?_" He made his way into his office and collapsed in his chair. "Anyway, check for Sarcoidosis and Lupus. And consider environmental influences. You better have collected samples from his house and office."

They all nodded and made their way slowly out of the room and down to the pathology lab. Foreman stopped just before the door closed. "You sure everything's alright?" He checked.

"Peachy," House snapped. "Go. Do."

After his team left, House logged on to his computer. His messed around with youtube for a while and researched vintage guitars but he quickly gravitated back to the google search engine and found himself searching "recovering from abduction." As the pages flashed up on the screen, House saw "child abduction" and "child recovery" on all the websites and realised that there wasn't a lot for the recovery of grown women. His heart sank - he didn't know what he was expecting, but apparently it was something more than what he'd found.

After a moment of contemplation he searched "recovering from rape." This looked more helpful, with millions of pages flashing up immediately. After scanning the synopses, he knew that this was the information he needed. Strength in numbers. As he moved to a link to click it, he stilled his mouse. In a split-second, he moved back to the search engine and put in "helping your partner recover from rape." He knew, just from a cursory overview, that this was the information that he really needed. As he moved quickly between the webpages, he couldn't believe he'd never tried this.

They were all his feelings, in black type. Even though he knew it rationally, it just cemented in his brain that Cuddy was not the only woman to go through this, he was not the only boyfriend to feel this way. He was just about to open another site when Wilson barged in. "House," he commanded. "Go to Cuddy. She's asking for you."

"I thought she was asleep?"

"That was two hours ago," Wilson told him. House was surprised at how much time had passed. He blinked, trying to wake himself up a little. "She's up and trying to get out of bed. You need to tell her to just lie down. She wasn't listening to me."

House nodded, scrubbing his eyes. "Sure. Right." He got up and strode down the hallway with purpose. "Can you get a salad or something? Or maybe some chocolate or a latte? She needs to eat, get some energy."

Wilson nodded and split off toward the cafeteria. House entered Cuddy's room just as the nurse was trying to force her back to bed. "Dr Cuddy," the nurse was saying, "you should relax."

"I'm fine," Cuddy snapped, pulling her gown half-off as if she was trying to get changed.

"Before you get naked," House warned, "I don't have a change of clothes for you."

Cuddy's head snapped at the sound of his voice. "Where the hell did you wander off to?" She snarled.

House looked at the nurse. "Give us a minute?" He asked, almost pleading. The nurse nodded and left quickly, not wanting to stay any longer than she had to. House moved over to her. "Lisa," he implored, "_please _get back in the bed." The use of her first name got her attention. "Just so we can talk."

"Don't treat me like a disobedient kid," she grumbled.

"I won't," he told her. "As long as you don't act like one."

They held each other's gaze - Cuddy knew that House wasn't backing down. Still glaring - but without the same bite as before - she slunk back into the hospital bed. He fluffed her pillow behind her and helped smooth the blanket. "For Christ's sake," she snapped. "I'm not an _invalid._"

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. I won't be nice."

Cuddy shut her eyes. "Can you leave me alone?" She asked.

"Nope. Sorry. Can't do that." He pulled up a chair once again. "Before you go home, we're going to figure out that next steps. We need a plan... because this isn't working."

She lay back. "I don't think that's completely fair," she started, matter-of-factly.

"I think it is," House replied. "Look, I can always make a call to Mayfield - "

"What? No!" She exclaimed, eyes wide with panic. "No. Never. I don't - How can you - " She was tripping over her words with fear. "Please, don't do that to me."

"I'm not going to," he replied levelly. "But maybe you should consider it as an option. And it doesn't have to be Mayfield. Hell, it might even be better if it's not Mayfield. But somewhere that will just give you the kind of aggressive support that you need."

"I don't need _aggressive _support. I'm working through it myself."

"And clearly that's working," he rolled his eyes. "If you could've seen yourself last night - "

"It was a bad night!" She yelled. "One _really really _bad night. _Why _can't you understand that?"

"Oh fuck off!" He yelled back. "Imagine if it was the other way around. If you'd come home and Rachel had been crying and alone and you found out that I'd left her like that. And then if you drove around for an hour trying to find me while being so panicked you thought your head was going to explode. And then _finally, finally _you found me sitting on the side of the lake at the jogger's park, looking like a ghost and practically unable to speak? And then if I said, 'it was a bad night' what would you have done? Would you have said, 'oh okay. Let's just go home like nothing happened'? No! Of course you wouldn't! Because that is _not okay _and you are _not okay _and I don't see why you can't understand_ that_!" He broke off, breath ragged. He waited.

The room was silent for a few minutes as the pair just sat there, House watching Cuddy and Cuddy's eyes fixed on the floor. Finally she spoke. "I'm sorry I scared you," she whispered. "I didn't want to do that."

"I know," House replied. He didn't speak more. He wanted _her _to do some of the talking... But after another five silent minutes he decided to try and prompt the conversation. "Do you wish you could talk about what happened?"

She gave a tiny shrug before nodding ever so slightly. "Having all this constantly inside me is driving me insane," she _finally _admitted. "It wells up until it's all I can think about."

"Do you... want to talk to me about it?" He asked cautiously.

"I don't care," she answered. "I just want to talk to _someone. _But... It hurts to the point where I can't even talk about it. I can't get the words out. I can't even imagine vocalising those things... Accepting that they happened to me. If I do that - I'm scared that I won't be able to ever stop thinking about it. I don't want to open that door yet."

"But you know that that closed door is what's making you feel this way," he continued. "Right?"

"Right," she repeated. "I know all that."

"Do you want me to call Foster?" He asked, though he knew the answer.

"No," she said immediately.

"I don't think you should see her anymore," House told her.

She looked like she was about to fight back, but then she shut her mouth again. "Maybe."

"Cuddy, you don't talk to her," he rationalised.

"But - "

"No buts, woman," he pressed a finger to her lips. "If she's not helping you, she's got to go."

"Is that our motto now?" Cuddy asked, a small smile creeping onto her face.

"Why not?" House faked a smile. There was a moment of silence where Cuddy was clearly trying to figure out a way to avoid the rest of the conversation.

"Where's Rach?" Cuddy asked him.

"Don't change the subject," House warned.

She raised her eyebrow. "My _daughter's _well-being is _the most _important subject."

"Really?" House asked, with heavy sarcasm, before he could stop himself.

Cuddy's features hardened. "What's that supposed to mean?" She growled, although she knew what he meant.

House knew that he could salvage this. "Look, last night, Rachel's well-being clearly wasn't high on your list of priorities." Cuddy's nostrils flared and he could see the anger rising on her face. "_But _that's not normal. You wouldn't have... _left _her there if you hadn't been completely lost in your own head." He gave her a weak smile. "Cuddy, you are an amazing mom. The fact that how you felt yesterday overrode your maternal instincts should tell you something."

She put her head in her hands. "I didn't mean to do that," she whispered. "She was just... crying. And I was crying. And... I couldn't hear her crying and saying 'I don't like it when you cry' and 'I worry that you are going to go away and never come back'. I felt like a terrible mother. I couldn't... handle those feelings all at once. I just... needed a break," she finished lamely, looking up with wide eyes.

"You know that's exactly what I'm offering," he muttered. "You can have a break. You can just relax. We can go on holiday - and you can leave your phone at home. Do you not think that'd be good for you?"

"But the people who make me feel worst, well... I don't feel good when you look at me." She admitted.

House was shocked. His mouth dropped open a little, a display of utter confusion. "W-what?" He asked, stammering.

"When you look at me," she continued, voice shaking, "I can see the pity in your eyes."

He was beyond surprised. Cuddy wished that she hadn't said anything when she saw the unhappiness on his face. He moved over to her bed and pulled himself onto it, tucking her under his arm and clutching her to his chest. She laid her head down against him, hearing his heart in her ears. She about to speak when she heard his voice. "I am... _so _sorry," he mumbled, so quietly it was almost inaudible. "I don't pity you," he whispered into her hair. "I never have."

"Then _why _do you get that _look _on your face?" She asked him, her voice shrill. He could hear her getting worked up.

"Ssh," he soothed her. "Cuddy... I love you more than life itself," he told her honestly. "You know I don't like to see you hurt. _That's _the look."

She raised her eyebrows, as if to say, 'I don't believe it.' He kissed her hair. "How can I prove that to you?" He asked her. "Because it's pretty much a given that if you're hurt, I'm not going to be happy. You can't have any problem believing that one."

"I don't," she answered. "I believe you."

"What do you need to hear?" He asked. "Do you need an 'I love you'? 'I'm so sorry this happened'? 'It wasn't your fault'? Because _all _of those are true - do I just need to find the right one?"

She was silent, her bottom lip quivering.

He sighed. "You are the only woman to have survived being with him," he said. "You are the strongest, most amazing, smoking hot woman I know. You have the control here. No one will dismiss you or hurry you. You can do exactly what you want." He paused. "And no matter what you need, I will give it you to. If you want to talk, I'm here. If you want to run away to Mexico, I'm here. If you want to just lie down and do nothing, I'm here. _I'm here for you._"

She nodded. "You're really good at this, you know that?" She mumbled. He smiled.

"I know that I could have anything I want," she said. "But I'm scared - because I don't want it. I don't want anything. And sometimes... I just don't want to _be._"

It hurt him to hear that - but he could certainly understand the feeling. "Okay," he nodded, processing her words. "Here's what I think we should do. I think you should spend today here and get discharged tomorrow. I think we should get you some antidepressants - just for the time being - and find the best therapist in Princeton and set up an appointment. I think Rachel should stay with your sister for two more days, so you can have a day at home just you. And I will stay with you the whole time - How does that sound?"

She nodded. "Okay," she said hoarsely, her eyes watery. "Okay."

"Promise me that if you ever want to kill yourself, you'll tell _someone._" He took her hands in his. "_Promise me._"

"I promise," she told him. "I really really do."

"Good. Because I couldn't live without you."

She let her head rest on his chest. "I'm still tired."

"So go to sleep," he told her, his hand carding through her hair. "I've got you."


	21. Chapter 21

House knocked lightly on Julia's front door and waited for her to open it. The air was cold around him, despite it almost being summer. Flowers had now bloomed across Julia's lawn making the house look cheerful and bright. No one on the outside would know of the turmoil inside.

Julia answered, giving a weary smile when she saw him. "House," she sighed. "Come in."

He shook his head and tried to decline politely. "Can't. I've got to get back to your sister, I'm afraid. I'm just here to get the little one."

Julia nodded, her face flooded with emotion. "When can I come and visit?" She asked desperately. "Please, House. She's my sister. I have to know that she's okay."

House didn't want Julia to visit. He wanted to protect Cuddy from the world - and that included people in her family. If no one came near her then she couldn't be hurt. He knew it was irrational but he wanted to preserve that plan as long as he could. However, Julia was part of this family too. She deserved some comfort, the little peace House could give her. To be fair, Cuddy was doing a lot better. "She's coping, Julia. She's just fine."

"I don't believe that," Julia replied honestly. She didn't get a chance to continue though, as a little girl appeared behind her, pajama-clad and snivelling. Her hair was messy and her eyes hooded with the need for gentle sleep. Looking at her now, House could see that the elder Cuddy was not the only Cuddy struggling and hiding her feelings right now.

"She's not sleeping," Julia whispered, as Rachel tugged on her little suitcase. "I've been staying with her all night, but even then, she barely sleeps. She kept asking for you and Lise. She's so young, House, but even the little she can comprehend is scaring her."

He nodded. "I know. No one's doing great at the moment. I'll talk to her though," he added as an afterthought, mainly to reassure Julia. What would he say? Rachel _should _be upset. Her life had been upturned in a moment and she could barely place herself in it anymore. The woman who'd always had time for her was now in no position to be taking care of another human being and had to be taking care of herself. "Come on, kid," he prompted gently. Rachel trudged out of the large house, her head hung. She didn't look at him.

He said a cursory goodbye to Julia and then limped his way to the car, following the little girl ahead of him. She hopped into the front seat, perching on the booster seat that Cuddy always had stuffed in the footwell. Her bag was flung into the back.

They drove off in silence, Rachel staring out of the window. He wasn't sure if she was angry with him or just exhausted, but either way, he felt compelled to speak. Oddly, she beat him to it. "House," she mumbled, her eyes wavering, "can you be my dad?"

He snapped his gaze toward her. "What?"

She looked bashful. "I'd like a daddy," she repeated shyly. "And I want you to be him."

House looked back to the road, his mind screaming at him. He'd known this moment was coming. He just hadn't anticipated it being under these circumstances. As much as he wanted to ignore her, he knew he couldn't. She deserved more than that.

Slowly, he pulled onto the side of the road and turned off the ignition. "Why do you want that?" He asked, looking straight at her.

She kept staring out the window as she spoke. "I didn't think I needed a daddy before," she started. "I had mommy. She was perfect. It was me and her, like she said. I didn't need a daddy." He heard her start sniffing furiously. "But now I don't even have a mommy," she whispered. "And I can't not have neither."

House was shocked. "You have a mom, Rach. We're going home to her right now."

"But she's not a _mom _anymore," Rachel forced out. "She's just there. She doesn't play with me. She doesn't even see me," she wailed, her little hand twisting in knots. "I need a daddy, House. It's not fair that I don't get a mom or a dad when my cousins have both."

"Rach," House sighed. "Mom's _not well. _But she is still your mom. One day, soon, she'll be normal again. She'll play with you again. She just needs some _time, _Rach." He scrubbed his face with his hands. "She's still yours."

"Can't you be mine too?" She asked hopefully.

He swallowed. He wouldn't lie to her. "I'm not your dad," he told her. "I can't be your dad." Her face crumpled and a stab of pain shot to his leg. "But I can be your House," he finished, catching her attention.

"My... House?" She asked, looking a little confused.

"Yeah. See, most kids get a dad. Dads can be fun, sure. But dads also have to put you to bed when you're not tired, and have to feed you vegetables that you don't like, and aren't supposed to buy you nice toys when it's not your birthday because they'll be spoiling you... If I'm your House, not your dad, I don't have to any of those things. If I'm just your House, then I never have to force-feed you brussels sprouts and I never have to force you into bed when you want to watch another cartoon." He looked at her hesitantly. "Doesn't that sound better?"

Rachel's little eyebrows knitted. "But... can't you do that _and _let me call you daddy?"

"Nu uh," House shook his head. "Doesn't work like that."

"Oh," Rachel accepted, still looking lost. "So... I have a House?" She asked him.

"You have a House and a _mom,_" House reminded her. "Don't forget that, Rach. She's at home right now - waiting for _you. _She's missed you."

Rachel nodded. "Where was she, House?" She asked quietly.

"In the hospital," he replied. "You were there when we dropped her off, remember?"

"No," Rachel shook her head. "No, not now. _Then. _I know you're telling a lie... If she was working, she would have called!" She put on her most defiant expression. "Lying is wrong. I get put in time out for it."

House nodded. His mind whirred. He couldn't tell her the whole truth, that much he knew. But a watered-down version? Cuddy would kill him. But then again, Rachel clearly _knew _that something wasn't right. She'd just said so.

"Rachel..." He started, wondering how to do this without shattering her faith in humanity. "Most people in the world are good people, okay? They're nice and loving and all that." She nodded. "But there are some people who are... bad people. They don't care about how other people feel. And sometimes, they like to hurt people, just because they can. Do you understand what I'm saying?" He hoped that she could read between the lines.

He could see the cogs whirring in her brain. She gave him a confused look. "Not really," she admitted.

He took a deep breath. "A bad guy tried to hurt Mommy. Well, he did hurt her. And she's okay, but she's still getting better. That's _why _we need to be patient, Rachel." He thought back to an incident recently. "Remember when you fell and hurt your leg? How would you have felt if we'd made you do gym the next day?"

She thought. "It would have hurt," she agreed.

"Exactly. We can't make Mom do things completely like she used to until she's better. It's not fair."

Rachel looked up at him with the innocence that only a child has. "It's taking her a really long time to get better."

House thought about everything he knew Cuddy had experienced. The prolonged, torturous hurt. He couldn't stop a shudder running down his spine. "That's because she was really hurt," House explained.

Suddenly, Rachel just seemed to get it. House could see the understanding flash across her eyes. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's go home."

In that moment House saw the trademark Cuddy determination in Rachel. It was as if she'd made an unconscious resolve to be brave. He may not be her father, but he cared for her. One day he might even love her. And he knew... She was too young for this. This whole situation was a nightmare and she was just a child. Tiny and innocent. She shouldn't have to have violence like that as a part of her young life.

But she did. Because _he _had decided that Cuddy wasn't a person. That she was a piece of meat. That no one, not her, not him, not Rachel, _no one _mattered but _him. _And that left House here, trying to explain psychopathy to a child because she was driving her tiny brain insane trying to figure just what the hell had happened to her once happy and stable life.

A lump formed in his throat. "Come here, kid," he ordered roughly, voice low.

She didn't hesitate. She unclipped her belt and clambered over to his seat. She settled herself on the seat between his legs, resting her head on his broad chest. He wrapped an arm around her, feeling some of the tension dissipate from within her as he did.

"I don't like this," she whispered into his t shirt. "I'm scared."

He swallowed, stroking her back. "You wanna know something? So am I."

She nodded. "We should be with Mommy," she said after a moment.

House agreed. "You're right," he replied, while helping her into her seat. She re-belted herself and looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to start driving. He just watched her. "You're a great kid," he managed to force out. "Really, really great. Your mom is lucky to have you." He swallowed. "_I _am lucky to have you."

She smiled. It was slight but it was there. "I'm lucky with you too House."

* * *

Cuddy was curled up on the couch when House and Rachel returned home. It was late; she was fighting sleep as hard as she could as she wanted House to be back with her before she dropped off for the night. Her heart pounded as she heard someone rattling with the keys - despite being almost completely sure that it was House, she still had a moment of being engulfed by panic.

She met his gaze as he entered, a sleeping Rachel thrown over his shoulder. It had been a three hour drive and so it came as no surprise to Cuddy that she was asleep. "I'll put her down," he whispered, closing the door softly behind him. She watched him fondly as he limped down the hallway. When he came back, this time childless, Cuddy was waiting for him eagerly. She patted the spot next to her, beckoning him to her.

He collapsed beside her. She leant over and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He brought his hand up and slid it through her dark curls, massaging her scalp lightly. When she didn't make a move to pull away, he deepened the exchange. His tongue swept into her mouth, releasing a content sigh from her. Gingerly she moved so she was straddling him.

Although he wanted to ask her if she was alright with this, he knew that that would be unnecessary. She deserved control. If she wanted to stop, she would say, and he would listen. It was as simple as that. He moved his hands to her hips, guiding her softly down so she was perched on his thighs. She was careful not to put too much pressure on his bad leg.

He began to kiss her neck, softly and sensually. She let out another soft sigh, again one of pleasure. He grinned into her pulse point. His hand began to slide under her shirt and up toward the curve of her breast. He was pleasantly surprised to find that she wasn't wearing a bra.

He almost wanted to stop the make out session and cry with happiness as his hands touched the twins again. _Finally. _It had been too long, he decided, helping Cuddy pull off her shirt. The sight of them made him almost tear up. Slowly, he brought his mouth to her breast. She moaned softly as he began to lave against it. Once she was happily engaged in that he let his free hand meander to the waist of her trousers. He slipped it over the waistband cautiously, giving her plenty of time to stop him. But she didn't. She pushed her breast further into his mouth and lifted her hips toward his hand.

He took a deep breath and continued. His fingers touched her clit gently and carefully.

And she hit him.

Just a gentle slap round the head, but enough to make to him stop. He reared back just as she pulled herself away from him, looking mortified.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, my god. House, I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" She ran a hand through his hair and checked the side of his face.

"I can take a light spanking, woman," he answered, swatting her hand away. "Are _you _okay?"

She nodded vehemently. "Yes. I... don't know what that was. It was like an instinct. You touched me and I... forgot it was you. I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything. He wasn't sure _what _to say. "It's okay," he decided on lamely after a minute. He didn't quite understand how she could _forget _that he was him. "Do you want to talk about it?" He had to admit, he wasn't sure what _it _was.

She pulled herself off him and fell back against the couch. "I was fine while we were kissing and you were touching me, you know, above the waist. And then..." She tailed off, and when House looked at her a moment later, she seemed to have zoned off.

He waited, seeking an answer with his eyes. "Cuddy?"

She was jerked out of her reverie. "Oh. Right. Um... well, you touched me properly and..." Her lower lip trembled. "And I could only see him."

The trademark anger flared up within House. Trying to hide his desire to find the bastard and _kill him _was fairly difficult... Too difficult, apparently, because Cuddy clearly noticed it.

"If I knew how to turn off the memories, I would," she told him. "Your touch doesn't feel like his... anyone's touch would have made me feel the same. Don't think it's you."

He nodded. He leant over and kissed her forehead.

She looked sadly at him. "Please say something," she whispered.

He shrugged, falling back beside her. He scrubbed his face with his free hand, the one that wasn't gently stroking her shoulder. "I miss you," he settled with. It came out whinier than he'd envisioned and immediately, he wished he hadn't said it. He told himself to stop talking - but he found he couldn't. "I miss being with you," he continued. "I miss your body," he said, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. He looked to her sadly. "And I miss you wanting me," he admitted.

"I still want you," she replied, but she couldn't look him in the eye.

He paused. "Do you think you'll ever want to have sex again?"

A tear rolled down her cheek. "Yes," she answered, her voice barely more than a whimper. "I mean, I do want it now. When I think about it, I want it so badly. But like just now... When it almost happens... I'm not sure I want it anymore." She looked down at her twisted hands.

"But that's all okay," he encouraged, pressing a kiss to the back off her hand. "If you want it like that, then hopefully... You'll want more." He cracked a smile. "I mean, look at me. It's only matter of time until you'll be craving my hot bod daily again."

She smirked. "I want to try again."

He cocked an eyebrow. "There's the Cuddy determination that I love so much."

"We can do this," she said to him, though it was seemed to be more aimed toward her.

"I know we can," he agreed. "We've done it plenty of times before," he reminded her. She was wearing a very adorable expression, one of cheeky resilience. While he watched her bite her lip in anticipation, he realised that this couldn't be about him.

He was going to enjoy any contact they had. He wouldn't have a problem with anything they did. But she... she could. She could feel trapped. She could feel scared. And, God forbid, she could feel like he was hurting her the way _he _had hurt her.

Before all this, Cuddy certainly had no problem being vocal about what she wanted from him when they had sex. But now... He didn't know. She probably didn't know. And if they were in the heat of the moment and she suddenly wanted to stop... Well, maybe her throat would close up and he would keep going while her eyes were screaming 'stop'.

He couldn't do that to her.

He would hate himself and she would hate him.

No. That would never happen to them. He would make sure of it. That was why this had to be all about her. She couldn't feel like he was requiring anything of her - she had to feel like she was the centre of attention and that all she had to do was relax and enjoy herself.

He wanted to lavish love and attention on her. She had to understand that none of this had affected his view of her. He still thought he was as beautiful as she'd ever been. He wanted her just as much as he always had, ever since he'd met her twenty years ago. Nothing could change that - he would never love her any less.

He lay back against the edge of the couch so he was lying lengthways. "Lie back," he ordered her, but gently. He turned on his side so she could fit comfortably between him and the couch.

"If you want to stop, just say the word," he whispered, placing a kiss behind her ear.

She gave a shaky nod. "I want this," she told him again, reassuring him.

He helped her remove her pants and then drew his hands up her smooth legs. She shimmied her underwear off herself and bit her lip apprehensively. He gave a light chuckled. "Don't look so worried," he chided. "You are still - you will always be - the most beautiful woman that I've ever seen."

A look of pure adoration came onto her face. "Wait," she told him, but not in a nervous way. "The other night, I was so sure that I couldn't stand to feel this way anymore. That there was no way out. I'd felt so bad for so long, ever since I'd been rescued, that I couldn't see it getting any better. I'd been hiding it for so long that I'd forgotten how to let it go. But, then, I did. I let it go. And I know I didn't do it in the most responsible way - but I did it. And now... I _do _feel better. I really do. I have you and Rachel and I don't need anything else to make me want to be here."

She gave him a wide smile. "I needed to feel that bad so that I could remember how to feel good again. And now - sure, I'm still scared. But I'm _alive. _I shouldn't be, really... But I am. And maybe that's because of the police but I don't think it's all down to them. I think it was me, in part. I lasted. I survived. It was _me._"

He smiled down at her with as much warmth as he could infuse into one expression.

"Anyway, I just need to put everything in perspective. I need to stop thinking about it. I thought that if I kept analysing it I would understand, and then I would move on. But I know, _finally, _I figured out that it's not like that. So... that was a very long winded route to saying that no matter how hard it is, I will put _him _out of my mind and I will let myself enjoy this. I just need to let go. I want this, I want _you. _I have to stop being scared."

She kissed him deeply, tracing a pattern on his t shirt. "I want us to be able to love each other like we used to. No matter how hard it is."

House was so pleased and simultaneously stunned by her admission that he wasn't sure exactly of what to say. He realised that he didn't have to say anything. He merely let his hands stroke her between her folds and let his lips run over the pristine skin on her neck.

Even after her speech, she tensed a little. "Keep looking at me," he told her. "It's just me. You are safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you."

She hummed and opened her eyes. "Keep going," she told him.

He slipped two fingers inside her and began massaging her clit with his thumb. He interspersed gentle kisses up her jawline with looking into her eyes. He was glad to see relaxation in them. He picked up the pace and her hips bucked gently. She gave a soft moan. "Don't stop," she ordered. Her eyes were trained on him.

"I won't," he promised. His finger thrusts went stronger and deeper and his thumb applied harder pressure to her hardened nub.

He could sense her getting closer to orgasm, but he could also sense the reticence that came along with that. "Look at me," he told her. "Keep your eyes on me."

She nodded. "Okay," she exhaled. "Harder," she told him, her hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. He did as she asked. Her walls started closing harder against his fingers, drawing them deeper. He kissed her as she came, swallowing the moan that she released.

"Okay, okay," he whispered as her breathing settled. "You're okay."

A warm flush suffused her cheeks. Her eyes were watering but she was smiling. She kissed him and moved her hand to his belt. He stilled her. "Tonight's about you."

"Can't it be about both of us?"

"Nope," he shook his head. "It's you, Cuddy. It's all about you."

She smiled. "Thank you." A single tear escaped her eye. "I love you. My god, I love you so much."

"How could you not?" He joked, a defence mechanism. "Here, fair maiden, let me carry you to bed."

Cuddy giggled. She was fully naked at this point and still a little woozy from the first pleasurable sexual contact in half a year. "House, you don't have to do this," she laughed, as he hooked his strong arms under her knees and began stumbling to their bedroom. "Stop!" She giggled, but he could tell that she didn't really want him to. "Your leg - "

"My leg is _fine,_" he reassured her, while simultaneously banging into the door and causing them both to laugh. Cuddy looked so free and relaxed... House was so happy to have been able to give that to her. The way she was leaning into him now showed reliance that she'd been hiding from him for the past few months.

He hit their dresser as he moved them into the bedroom and half-placed, half-dropped Cuddy on the bed. She rolled over onto her front while House was taking off his clothes. "You're a sexy man," she laughed as he flexed his muscles comically for her.

She'd been tired when he'd got home and now, after their exchange on the couch, she was almost asleep already. She pressed her naked body up against House's pajama pants and laid her head on his bare chest.

He drew his hands up over her back, tracing the faint scars that had stuck around. She'd been lucky in that respect; no lasting physical damage, apart from these few scars. There were four along her shoulder blades, from pieces of glass that had sliced through her skin. But tonight, they looked like they'd faded.

Everything was going away, piece by piece.

He'd thought Cuddy was asleep before she spoke to him. "I'm going to be fine, House," she told him, with an air of determination and happy realisation. "I'm going to be just fine."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: The medicine in this chapter is made to fit with the plot. I'm not a doctor so I'm going to bet it's not medically accurate. **

* * *

House walked through the halls of PPTH as the day drew to a close, his backpack flung over one shoulder. His patient was stable, though he doubted she would stay that way for long, and his thigh had been cramping since the early afternoon. He was trying to leave quickly and without fuss... But as he saw Foreman up ahead of him, he knew that it wouldn't be that simple.

Foreman was now the acting Dean of Medicine (whoever made _that _decision, House didn't know) and House wanted to avoid him at all costs. Considering that he was on his way home to the _real _Dean he thought he'd better just let Foreman potter around for a few weeks, and cause as little trouble for him as he could.

Honestly, he sort of wished Cuddy would take a year off. Some real time for her to just _be. _It wasn't as if she wasn't already accomplished or hadn't already established herself as fantastic administrator. She'd done all those things and more - why she was so desperate to spend all her waking hours proving that he wasn't sure.

Well, okay, he knew why. The job was a part of personality. She felt like she needed to be back in that position, back in _control. _Obviously, he understood that a big part of the emotional impact of sexual assault was the loss of control - and for a person like Cuddy, who was controlling by nature, he assumed that it was something she was itching to reclaim.

She'd been good the past week. A little shaky, but she'd been smiling and laughing. She'd also been crying - though House thought that was a positive step. Sure, she'd cried before about her anger, her frustration. But she hadn't released her emotions about her more vulnerable side - the parts of her that had really been traumatised. Although she was still unable to get the words out of her mouth she was at least trying. On one hand, he was happy that she felt comfortable enough to talk to him. On the other... he couldn't help but feel that becoming her therapist was a dangerous move.

If she wanted to tell him the gruesome details, then he would listen. He wouldn't make her feel guilty for sharing that harrowing information - considering she'd had to live it, he could at least hear about it. However, if he could avoid it he would. He didn't want to know and he was scared that she was getting closer to telling him.

Sighing, he digressed. There was no point worrying about it before it happened. He kept limping toward the exit, hoping that Foreman wouldn't notice him. Unfortunately, fate wasn't on his side, something he realised when he heard someone shouting after him. "House! Got a minute?"

He stopped but waited a few moments to turn around. When he did, Foreman was almost next to him already. "What's up, boss?" House asked, letting the weariness show through. All he wanted to do was go home, drink a glass of scotch and watch some mindless TV. Was that really too much to ask?

Foreman put on his neutral diplomat face. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that I'm not trying to get in Cuddy's way here. The board asked me to take over while she was taking her time off. I'm not trying to step on her toes - her job's here when she wants it back."

House smirked. "You're only saying this because you're hoping that I won't lash out at the new authority."

Foreman sighed. "Yes - but I _also_ don't want Cuddy to feel like she's being pushed out. She deserves time to herself without worrying. I'm trying to give her some peace of mind."

House rolled his eyebrows internally. "You think I don't know that she needs some time to herself?" He turned away just as his pager went off. "Oh, crap," he muttered under his breath, glancing at the message. His patient was coding - as if he hadn't seen that one coming. Without another word to Foreman he limped toward the elevator, pulling out his mobile on the way.

He pressed his number one speed dial and waited for her to pick up. "_Hey,_" she said softly, her happiness coming through the machine. "_Are you almost here?_"

He knew she'd be upset. "Patient's just coded. I think I'm gonna be here for a few more hours."

There was a silence on the other line. "You haven't been home with me for days," she replied after a static moment.

He sucked in a breath. "I know. I'm sorry, Cuddy," he apologised. He really did mean it. After all this, he really did want to spend as much time with her as possible - he wasn't sure if that feeling would ever go away. Everyone always said 'life is short' but until she'd gone missing, he hadn't realised just how many things he wanted to do with her and how much time he wanted to spend with her. When he thought about how it could all have been taken away in an instant, his skin crawled and he felt physically nauseous. It wasn't a feeling he was used to, nor one he wished to share. But he hoped his sincerity shows through as he apologised profusely to his girlfriend.

"_It's fine,_" she interrupted after a minute. "_Really. Do what you do. Save someone's life._"

He could hear the unhappiness. "Don't be all passive aggressive. You _know _I'd be with you if I could - but this patient needs me. It's never been any different. It's my curse," he said lightly, trying to coax a laugh from her. "Other doctors are just too moronic."

She was silent. "_I need you_," she answered in a small voice.

She sounded like a child. The fact that she was feeling vulnerable enough to admit that so freely showed how much she needed him. "You're breaking my heart here," he groaned in response. "I'll be home as soon as I can, okay?"

She made a non-committal noise and hung up. As the elevator rose to the right floor, he mulled over his options. However, he inevitably came to the only suitable conclusion. He had to stay. Cuddy, although unhappy, wouldn't die without his presence. His patient could. He had to prioritise.

He made his way to the ICU and saw Chase and Taub resuscitating his patient. She was a thirty five year old woman - young in House's mind. Her husband was waiting outside of the ICU, panic flitting across his face. "What's happening?" He asked House, his voice shrill and his eyes glassy. "Is she dead?"

House paused. He watched as she returned to normal sinus rhythm. "No," he replied. "Not yet." He could see her eyes flutter open and widen in fear. Chase reached out a hand to comfort her and she shrunk away from him. She started to shriek.

House barrelled into the room as she began to thrash. "Get off me!" She was screaming. "Stop touching me!" Her flailing led to her IV line being wrenched from her hand. Blood began to leave the ripped wound, dripping over the bed, the patient and Chase who was still trying to restrain her. "Where am I? What's happening?" She kept repeating, her gaze darting fearfully across the room.

"You're in the hospital," Chase answered her, gripping her arms and trying to pin her to the bed. She was small but tough. Her fighting was still keeping Chase's attempts to subdue her at bay. "Security!"

House just watched the exchange with interest. He hadn't spoken to either the patient or her husband... He'd left that up to his team, as always. He shouldn't be surprised that he'd notice something they hadn't. The realisation was on the tip of his tongue but he'd couldn't place it yet. He saw the way she jerked away from her doctors, the fear, the anguish.

Something within him recognised her reaction.

The security guard stormed in and pushed past him, helping Chase hold her down on the bed as Taub struggled to administer a sedative. "Please," she looked up to House. "Help me," she mouthed.

House was frozen. "Ease up," he said softly, still shocked and entranced by the scene in front of him. He could see both Chase and the guard's hesitance to being forceful with her, which meant that was still fighting against their hold on her. Taub had the needle ready to be injected, but he couldn't get it in the right spot. As he tried to reach over to her arm, the guard slipped and his stuck out his hand to grab onto the closest thing. It turned out to be the patient's upper thigh. The guard's rough hand grabbed onto the skin and then slipped up her leg.

That's when she went really lost it. "_Get off me!_" She screamed as loudly as she could. "No no no," she fought, "stop. Please stop. Get your hands off me." Taub managed to stab the needle in the stop flesh of her arm and after a moment she went quiet, her arms limp and her eyes shut.

"Wow," Taub exhaled, surprised. "She's got a fight in her."

"Psychotic break after cardiac arrest," Chase said. "What's the differential for that?"

House shook his head. Both Taub and Chase could see that he was a little dazed by the whole situation. "That wasn't a psychotic break," he murmured.

_That fear, that fighting. The complete and utter debilitating panic when the guard's hand groped her thigh. The 'please stop's. _He'd seen it before - in his own home. He knew that fear and he'd seen that reaction.

"Page me when she wakes up," he ordered, and left the room as quickly as he could.

* * *

House was napping at his desk when a little beeping woke him up. His clock flashed two am in bright, neon letters. Thoughts of Cuddy's distress raced through his mind, but he quashed them quickly and turned his attention to his pager. _She's awake. _

He made his way down to the ICU and saw Chase standing with her in the darkened cubicle. Her husband was in a chair next to her, holding her hand. He moved to the nurses' station and grabbed the copy of her file from the stand to refresh himself with her name. Her symptoms weren't so important anymore. For what he was about to do to be successful, he'd need to connect with her.

All three looked up when House entered the room. She was red-eyed but clearly alert. He swallowed. "I'd like to speak to you alone," he said, directly to his patient. She looked confused. She looked to her husband immediately for support.

He stepped in. "Why would you need to do that?" He asked. "We're married. We know all there is to know about each other."

House fought the urge to scoff. "Doctor-patient confidentiality," he shrugged. "I've got to abide by it, right Dr Chase?"

Chase was startled from his reverie. "Oh, uh, yes," he nodded frantically. "It's the rules, I'm afraid."

The husband looked over to her. She looked weary. "Couldn't this wait until the morning?" He implored, but House couldn't let that happen. He tried to rationalise that it was necessary for her survival and not just to satisfy his curiosity.

"I'm sorry," he shook his head. "Your wife's condition is critical. We need to be as quick as we can."

"It's fine," she croaked, finally entering the conversation. "You've been here for hours. Go and get a coffee or something."

"You su - "

"Positive," she interrupted him. "Go. I'll be fine."

House nodded imperceptibly to Chase who then escorted the husband out of the room. House pulled up a chair next to her and looked her straight in the eye. He didn't want to baby her or patronise her. He needed her to feel comfortable with him, or she'd never trust him enough for her to open up.

He spoke first. "After your arrest today - "

"I know I went a little nuts. I remember." She sighed. "I don't know what came over me."

House swallowed. "You'd forgotten where you were. You were scared... and unsettled. You kept asking the doctors to stop touching you."

She shrugged, but he could see panic in her eyes. "I was freaked out. I'd been technically _dead _for two minutes. I-I don't know what I was saying," she blabbered, scrunching the blanket between her fingers.

"Isabelle," he implored. The use of her name got her attention. "Please. I'm here to help you."

Her eye twitched. "I don't know what you want me to say," she whispered. "I've told you everything."

"I don't think you have," he replied, but gently, in an equally soft tone. "The way you fought off the guard. The way you struggled. You became far more agitated as his hand moved up your thigh accidentally." She started to cry as he spoke. "I've seen it before. You don't have to hide it from me."

A few tears slid down her cheeks. "Please don't make me do this," she begged.

He felt a genuine pang of emotion for this woman. He didn't want to traumatise her. He just wanted to talk to her. "I'm not going to make you talk about it," he assured her. "But I need to know if it happened."

She continued to cry silently. They stayed that way for a few minutes as he could see her building up the courage to speak. "It was my dad," she admitted. The silence hung in the air. "I was a _child._"

He nodded. He reached out and squeezed her hand. "Did you ever say anything?"

She shook her head. "Never," she whispered. "I've never been able to say the words."

He thought back to Cuddy at home. That too was her greatest fear and frustration. He gave her as sympathetic an expression as he could. "Were you ever checked over... after?" He asked, gently.

"No," she replied. "No, I wasn't." Her voice cracked. "I'm sorry, I should have said something - "

"It's not your fault," House told adamantly. "Nothing that happened was your fault."

She nodded, but it was clear that she didn't believe him. "It went on for years," she told him. "I don't know if my mother ever knew. If she did, she didn't try to stop it. He laid off a little as I grew up... But it didn't stop for good until I went college. I never went back," she admitted, wiping a tear from the bridge of her nose. "I told everyone I met from then that my parents were dead."

"I'm sorry," House replied, though he felt it was inadequate. "Did we ever test you for STDs?" He asked.

Her lip trembled and she shook her head. "I told you... that I'd only been with my husband like that," she whispered. "That's what he thinks, too. After everything that happened when I was younger, I wanted to feel unsullied." She put her head in her hands. "You won't tell him, will you?"

"Our concern is with you. You're our patient. We don't have to tell him anything," House reassured her. "It's your decision if you want to tell him."

She looked terrified at the thought. "I couldn't," she said. "He'd never be able to handle something like that."

House frowned. "How long have you been married?"

She sniffed. "Eleven years."

"Don't you think that, after all that time, he'd want to help you get through this?" He prompted. "If you two... saved yourselves for each other, then he clearly places more emphasis on marriage vows than the fifty percent of other Americans who get divorced."

"Maybe," she answered, thinking about it. "I just don't feel ready to do that."

"Okay," House nodded. "I'm going to run an STD panel now. There are some sexually transmitted illnesses that can incubate for years. If that's what you have, then we'll treat it with antibiotics and you should be fine. Will you be all right if I leave?"

She looked touched by his concern. "I'll be fine," she replied, with the hint of a smile.

House exited the ICU room and took off toward the lab. He had a pretty good idea of what it was. He'd tell Foreman and Chase to start the syphilis antibiotics as soon as he found them. Syphilis could incubate for decades - and here, it looked like it had. She was now suffering an extreme reaction.

Unfortunately, he was intercepted by Isabelle's husband. "Is she okay?" He asked frantically. "Do you know what she has?"

House rubbed his brow. "Not for certain."

"But you have an idea?" He pressed. "Is it treatable?"

House swallowed. He was getting into dangerous territory. "Yes, if we're right." He then limped away, pressing the elevator button.

"Wait!" The man ran after him. "She's my wife. What do you think it is? If it's treatable... then she should be okay, right?" He was practically begging the doctor for information. His pupils were darting around the room and he looked crazy with lack of sleep.

"She has an infection," he admitted, willing the elevator to arrive faster.

"An infection?" He was surprised. "Where did she get it from?"

House shrugged. "You know... sometimes these things just happen."

"Please," the man continued to plead. "From her work? Our house? Me?"

_No, _House thought, _but you could have got it from her. _"Talk to your wife," House said shortly, and got into the elevator. And the doors closed, he saw the husband's confused and panicked face. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor guy - he knew what he was about to experience, and even he wouldn't wish it on anyone.

* * *

After putting Isabelle's blood through the machine in the lab, House had confirmed her syphilis. It was a good thing too, as he'd already has Chase start her on some antibiotics. A late onset like this would require some aggressive treatment, but she'd live.

That's what he kept focusing on. He thought back to Cuddy, when she'd had her first HIV test. He'd willed it to be negative. He couldn't stand the thought that she'd die a slow and painful because of what had happened - she'd suffered enough. The same was true of his patient. It wasn't fair for her to die because of her abuse.

He hated that he couldn't be objective anymore. When he'd seen Isabelle's reaction and known what happened, he felt the need to console her. To make her feel better. Because now he _knew. _He didn't know what it was like to be raped but he knew what it was like to see someone consumed by a rape. He needed her to know that she wasn't the only person to experience this and there were people who could help her.

And before he wouldn't have cared. He'd have diagnosed her and moved on. Now... He felt like she deserved more. All because she'd experienced something similar to Cuddy, and he could no longer separate the two in his mind.

Berating himself internally he made his way to her ICU room to deliver the news himself. Foreman leapt out at him from behind the nurses' station and intercepted him. "Well?" He asked, referring to the test results.

"Syphilis confirmed," he nodded. "Treatment's already been started."

Foreman pursed his lips as an acknowledgment. "Nice catch," he offered. "She'll make a full recovery."

House twisted his cane in his hands. "Yeah," he murmured, eyes glazed and deep into his own thoughts.

Foreman sighed. "Its almost four in the morning. Go home and get some sleep - come back tomorrow."

House wanted nothing more than to go home, crawl into bed, wrap his girlfriend up in his arms and sleep for a full twelve hours. When he heard Foreman give him that permission, he took it immediately. Without another word House started to move down the hallway, dragging his exhausted leg behind him.

As he got to the end of the corridor he was almost next to Isabelle's husband sitting on the couch, red-eyed. House hoped to avoid him but unfortunately, the husband lifted his head and caught House's eye. "She told me," he said mournfully, his voice thick.

House felt obligated to sit. He was suddenly lost for words. "I'm sorry," he settled on. "I really am."

The man nodded. "She said that you think she has a syphilis as a result of the..." He trailed off, unable to say the words. "Please tell me she doesn't."

"I wish I could do that," House whispered. "However - "

"Don't say it," he demanded. "Don't do this to us."

"It's treatable," House offered. "She'll be fine. You'll... recover from this," he said hesitantly. "Over time, you will."

He shook his head and House could see a tear gather in the corner of his eye. "Do I...?"

"I don't know," House filled in. "You need to get tested. If the two of you have been sleeping together for this long... It's probable."

"This explains so much," he continued, letting House just listen. "For years, I wondered why us being together was so hard for her. I just didn't think... She told me her parents were dead. She'd never spoken about them to me... and I'm her husband. We saved ourselves for each other," he told House drearily. "Or at least, I thought we did."

House felt compelled to speak then. "It wasn't her fault. She saved herself for you - she _chose _you. If you're with her then she can recover from this. She needs time and support and... I don't know, comfort."

He looked pained. "I don't think I can do this," he admitted.

The silence hung in the air. House just stared.

"You've... been married for eleven years," he blabbered incredulously. "You love her - _she _was the one who had to experience this, _not _you. It's not about whether you can do this, it's about her! _She _needs you!" He was shouting now.

Isabelle's husband stood up, looking distressed. "I didn't sign up for this," he said steely.

"Isn't that what marriage is?" House fired back, the anger rising in his voice. "Dealing with any random bumps in the road? In good times and bad - does that mean _nothing _to you?" He was yelling now. "_She _went through it - you think child abuse is a walk in the park? You think that she's not in pain? Are you _arrogant _enough to think that anything in this situation is about you?"

"I can't handle this!" He shouted back. "I'm no good to her! _She _told me that she had been with anyone - she lied. She wasn't honest with me!"

"It was abuse!" House roared back. He was fuming. "She needs you - you are her _husband_. You're supposed to _support _her. What good are you if you just leave her when she needs you most?"

"I guess I'm no good to her - I guess I should just leave," he returned.

House sat, a crushing sadness within him. He didn't understand this feeling he had for this patient - he was seething that her husband, the man who was supposed to love her no matter what, would leave after finding out something like this.

It was horrible. But it wouldn't have stopped House from being with Cuddy. He couldn't imagine that this man would leave her after eleven years together. He was... so angry. For this woman, for Cuddy, for all the women who had bastard parters who would leave them when they were most needed.

He stood again, squaring up to the man. "If you really love her, you'll stay and fight this with her," he told him, lowly and threateningly.

"Maybe I don't really love her then," he replied. "I thought I did. But maybe I don't. I just can't do thi - "

He didn't get to finish his sentence because House's fist connected with his jaw. In a moment of sudden rage, House exploded against the man, slamming his fist as hard as he could into the other man's face and watching as he toppled backward.

His groans filled the otherwise silent corridor. House looked down at his trembling fist and then back to the crumpled man. He could vaguely hear Foreman in the background, shouting something. He left without another word, too consumed with rage to trust himself to do anything but limp away.

* * *

"The roof? Really?"

As House turned around, he saw Cuddy standing in the doorway, lips pursed and arms folded. "Why are you here?" He asked wearily, turning back to look out over the hospital's complex.

"Foreman called. Said you beat up your patient's husband."

"Did he tell you why?" House asked, noting that she hadn't moved any closer toward him.

"He said he didn't know why," she supplied. She moved closer to him but didn't touch him, yet. She had her coat haphazardly buttoned over an old sports vest and jeans. She'd clearly gotten ready in a rush. "Are you going to tell me?"

"My patient was sexually abused," he told her. "He'd just found out. And he was going to leave her."

They both waited in silence. Cuddy processed his words. She then moved closer, slipped an arm around him and leant against him. He accepted her eagerly, smelling her hair and sliding his hands up her smooth skin. She turned so she was practically enveloped in his arms. "I love that that made you so mad," she told him softly, stroking his cheek. "I love that I have someone who cares about me so much."

He rolled his eyes. "It's not about that - "

"Yes, it is," she contradicted. "I feel so sorry that she doesn't have someone to stay with her and be with her like you are with me. I understand why you're mad. Nobody deserves to deal with this alone." He quirked his lip. "But," she continued, "I don't ever want you to be violent to anyone about this ever again."

He frowned. "What?"

"This whole thing, the whole reason that we're in this mess, is because of violence. I don't need more of it. I don't need worry that every time you go out you might attack someone." She kissed his cheek. "You are good guy. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise. You are doing a good thing. Not every guy can do what you do."

"If _I _can do it," he alternated, "then anyone can."

"Not true," she disagreed. "So not true. Don't talk yourself down. You're amazing to me." She leant into him again, soothing him as best she could. "But if you can't deal with your feelings about what happened to me, then we need to find a way for you to do that."

"I'm fine."

"_No, _you're _not. _And that's okay. I know you think that because you didn't go through it that you don't deserve help, but that's not true. We all need some help to do this." She held him close. "I know you're angry."

He felt the rage rise up inside him. His fists clenched. "He hurt you," he whispered into her hair, voice shaking with anger.

"I know. And you should be angry," she agreed. "But _don't _take it out on other people, no matter how ignorant they may be."

"It's hard," he told her. "They're all morons."

She nodded. "Talk to me, talk to Nolan, talk to Wilson. Talk to _someone. _You'll need to confront this anger eventually - do it before someone else gets hurt in the process." She swallowed. "I don't ever want to feel like I'm not safe with you."

His gaze snapped up. "I would never hurt you," he replied emphatically. "_Never._"

"I know that. Let's keep it that way," she answered. "Rage is so dangerous, House. And you feel like you didn't protect me. You want to protect her. You want to stop bad things happening." He looked away in shame. "It's okay," she soothed. "There was nothing you could have done," she told him. "You couldn't have stopped him."

He looked her deep in the eyes. "It kills me everyday that I didn't stop him doing those things to you," he admitted ashamedly.

"It wasn't your fault," she emphasised. "You couldn't have stopped him. But," she kissed his hand, "you can help me end this nightmare. Don't take this out on others. Promise me you'll find a way to deal with this."

"Okay," he told her, wrapping her in his embrace. "Okay."


	23. Chapter 23

They had reached a bizarre equilibrium.

They woke up together, went to bed together and spoke a little during the day. The details, at this point, were almost irrelevant. She was pulling away from him and he was letting it happen.

It had started with a phone call. Her mother was back from her trip to Fiji and just wanted to check up on her daughter, as Cuddy seemed unwilling to pick up the phone and do it herself. The conversation had started with strained pleasantries and ended with Cuddy slamming the phone down, a look of hurt and disbelief plastered all over her.

Cut to the pair of them that evening, House on the couch and Cuddy pacing. "She was _here_ after it all happened," Cuddy ranted incredulously. "And... she wasn't that bad, was she? I mean, she wasn't perfect, but who ever is?"

House remained quiet. He knew that she wanted to rant but wanted someone there so she didn't have to be talking to herself. "But it's as if none of that happened," she continued. "And she basically told me that the wallowing was cute, but I need to stop. I need to stop _pretending _like I'm still affected by what happened. She said she was sad that I'd lost my ability to take things in stride."

"Your mother's a bitch," House interjected. "And a wrong bitch at that."

"I know that. But I didn't think she was_ that _much of a bitch," Cuddy responded absentmindedly, and went back to her ranting.

And so it continued.

Next, it was a Wilson crisis for House. And House ranted, he raved, while Cuddy listened diligently. By the end, when there was nothing left to say, an awkward, frozen silence would set in. They'd stare at each other, aware of all the feelings and unsaid words between. Of all the _anger _there.

The anger was new.

Both could now feel it - there was rage simmering under the surface, and for the life of them, neither House nor Cuddy could figure out why. Both - independently - had vowed to open up more with the other. For the most part they were sticking to that, at least superficially. House would tell her when Wilson, or a case, or his leg was upsetting him. Cuddy would tell him when her mother, or her sister, or her memories were upsetting her.

But they wouldn't talk about how they felt about the other.

House was now pathologically afraid of losing her. He knew of his propensity to hurt her and his desire to protect her outweighed that. So he kept his mouth shut.

Cuddy had House as her main support system. She couldn't jeopardise his place in her life over anger, whether it be misplaced or not. It _had _to be misplaced, she rationalised, because he hadn't done anything wrong. So she kept her mouth shut.

The days blurred into one another. They awoke, they moved, they slept. It was a choreographed dance. The moments where they had really opened up to each other and _felt their feelings _were always preceded by intense fear or intense love. The moments _had _to be intense for either of them to feel comfortable talking.

This equilibrium was anything but intense. It was calm and... _easy. _So they couldn't talk. It was as simple as that.

Their kisses felt forced. It was as if neither _wanted _to do it, but realised that it was the right moment. Cuddy hadn't let anything else happen. It was similar to their talking problem - for her to feel comfortable being with House in any sexual way, she had to feel vulnerable and _okay with it. _That required emotion of an unordinary kind. So they didn't touch each other. She didn't really feel like she was the same person anymore.

Her nightmares dulled. She slept better. She stopped jumping at the doorbell. She started therapy - properly. Really, she was getting better. She _was _doing as she'd promised. She was putting the past behind her... But her relationship with House was disintegrating as she did it. Not fracturing, not crashing down, just... wasting away day by day.

Neither had entertained the thought that House's part in her recovery, in her life immediately after what happened, would mean that she wouldn't be able to have him there when she was recovered.

* * *

"I need to talk about House."

Olivia looked up from across the office and tapped her pen on her notepad. "Alright. What do you want to say about House?"

Olivia was the polar opposite of Dr Foster. She was bigger, dark skinned and warm. Her office was littered with colours and artefacts and photographs. It wasn't stark and cold and clinical like that of Foster. It wasn't in a hospital, it was in small building half an hour from their house that Cuddy had found almost by accident. Olivia gave her peppermint tea when she arrived and let her settle in first, curling into the blanket on the soft armchair. There were no long couches... Just two chairs that they sat in as equals.

Cuddy felt exponentially more comfortable here than she'd ever felt with Foster. Part of it was that she'd _chosen _Olivia. Foster had been thrust upon her. She liked the control - and it wasn't hard to figure out why.

Cuddy sipped her tea. "I love him," she started, using her gaze for emphasis.

Olivia nodded. "I'm sure you do."

Cuddy clasped her hands in her lap. "We can't talk to each other anymore," she admitted, sounding pained.

"Why not? What's changed?"

"I don't know. I just woke up one day and felt... awkward around him. We know each other so well at this point that we're not even talking. We just sort of work around each other. There's nothing to say..." She murmured, tailing off.

"The way you started to mutter there makes me think that there is something to say," Olivia prompted.

Cuddy blew out a breath and tucked her feet up under her. "How insane am I if I'm mad at him?" She blurted out.

"I wouldn't say you're insane at all," Olivia replied smoothly. "Why do you think you're mad?"

"I don't know," she muttered, sipping her tea and not looking Olivia in the eye.

"I think you might," Olivia responded, equally quietly. "It's alright, Lisa. You're allowed to feel whatever want - that's the point of therapy. You feel things, you talk about them and you understand how to deal with them. It's important you're honest with me, though. Tell me whatever you're comfortable with." Cuddy said nothing, just sipped her tea. "It's okay to be nervous."

Cuddy sighed. "It started a couple of weeks ago, when I was called to the hospital in the middle of the night because House had punched a patient's husband. She'd been abused as a child, the husband has only just found out, and he said he was going to leave his wife. He and House got in a fight and House went a bit nuts. I had to rush in and I found him, brooding, on the roof." She shook her head with a hint of incredulity. "Part of me loved him so much in that moment. The way he feels about me, and about what happened... he'd do anything to protect me. But another part of me was angry. Because I'd only just got to sleep. And then he decided to lose his temper and have me, and Rachel, called in in the middle of the night." She sighed. "I was so tired and I just can't understand why he couldn't control himself."

Olivia nodded. "And it's just got worse?"

"I know that this is tough on everyone and he should be allowed time and space to... I don't know, _feel his feelings _or whatever, but... I know myself. And I'll just keep worrying about him if he keeps doing things I need to worry about."

"Do you usually worry about him a lot?" Olivia asked.

Cuddy let out a breathy chuckle. "Yeah," she nodded.

"Does it usually bother you?" The therapist pressed.

Cuddy thought. "No," she admitted eventually. "It never did. I guess I just factored it in as a part of my day," she laughed humourlessly. "But my day is now full of my own problems." She sighed. "It's not that he's doing things because he's having an issue with himself - it's his issue with _this, _with what happened _to me _that's making him this way. And it bugs me," she continued, with gritted teeth, "because..." She stopped and took a breath. "Because..."

"Take your time."

Her demeanour changed. "It's selfish," she started to babble. "I'm just being overly sensitive, it's not - "

"Lisa," Olivia cut in, leaning forward. "Tell me."

"Because it was worse for me," she said, with finality. She looked unhappy after she'd said it, as if she was somehow betraying her partner. She watched Olivia forlornly. "It's terrible of me to think."

"It's not," Olivia answered immediately, a sympathetic smile on her face. "I promise you. You haven't said that he shouldn't be affected, you just said that you are the one who's suffering most because of this. That's fine."

"But it's not fair," she said, almost whining. "And I don't need you to reassure me."

"Why do you feel bad for wanting him to focus on you for a little while?"

"Because he has his own issues. And it has been almost six months... I'm not saying I should be over it. I'm just saying that maybe I shouldn't be depending on him too much."

Olivia leant forward. "Lisa, I know that you know that recovering will take a very long time, and it will stay with you for the rest of your life. You know that six months, especially while you're still in the middle of the trial, is no time at all."

Cuddy nodded, but said nothing.

"Something's still bothering you," Olivia picked up on, astutely.

Cuddy felt a tear roll down her cheek. "I wish he'd been there, that night," she whispered, amazed that she'd been able to voice that feeling.

"Do you think he would have protected you?" Olivia asked gently.

"I know he would have," she answered, sniffing. "That's what upsets him now. He wishes he'd been there. I can't imagine the helplessness." She clasped her hands so tightly she almost cut off the blood supply. Her eyes watered. "It's not fair of me to be angry at him for not being there. But... I am." She shrugged. "I'm mad and I can't help it."

"Do you not think that you could be projecting some of this anger on to House?"

"Oh definitely," Cuddy nodded, feeling some of her calm return. "He's around me all the time. I'm tense, almost all the time. It's pretty likely that some of this is me being irrational."

"You don't have to call yourself irrational for having feelings," Olivia smiled. "I understand that talking about what happened and how you feel about it is incredibly difficult. I want you to try and normalise yourself with the fact that you have feelings." She let out a little chuckle. "You're not irrational, you're not insane and you need to start accepting this process within yourself."

Cuddy nodded. "Fine. I'll stop calling myself insane," she smirked.

"If you are projecting, where do you think this anger's being projected from?" Olivia asked, leaning in.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows. "I don't think that needs much talking about," she answered shortly. "Not yet," she added, almost pleading.

"Of course," she responded instantaneously. "We can leave it. I'd like you to start thinking about what you'll feel comfortable sharing, though. It certainly doesn't have to be all of it, but some of it. Things you feel okay with saying aloud."

"I can tell about it, if you want," Cuddy replied. "I've told the police and the lawyers and doctors... I can say it. I don't like to, but I can do it."

"But you do know that the things you share with me will not just be said and forgotten - you'll need to think about how they made you feel," Olivia said. She knew that Cuddy knew all of this, but she hoped if she kept repeating it, Cuddy would start internalising it.

Cuddy nodded. She looked momentarily uncomfortable. "I don't know when I'm going to be ready to do that."

"Are you scared of talking about it?"

"Not scared..." She mumbled. She glanced up. "I don't like remembering," she whispered.

"I know. That's why you can take your time. But it is important that you - we - work our way through it eventually. Think about how all this is already affecting your relationships - I don't want it to cost you them in the long run."

"You think he'd leave me?" Cuddy asked, fear creeping into her voice.

"Quite the opposite, actually. Guilt is clearly an issue for you, and so is your desire to protect House from any negative feelings you may have. I certainly wouldn't make a definite predictions, but I wouldn't want that guilt to overcome you." Olivia looked into her eyes. "You are in a position to come out of this stronger than you were before, and with a stronger relationship because of it. I want you to take advantage of that position."

She finished up her tea and put her mug down on the table. "I wouldn't leave him. There's nothing I won't do to make sure that after all this House, Rachel and I are still together."

"I have no doubt of that," Olivia responded, the hint of a smile evident on her face.

* * *

House fell down in the chair opposite Nolan with a thump, thrusting his cane to the floor. "I need to talk about Cuddy," he said gruffly.

Nolan nodded. "I'd already assumed that."

He rubbed his thumb across his brow. "What am I supposed to say to her?" He threw the question at Nolan, eyes bright. "Everything's wrong. I can't bring up what happened - but it's too huge a presence to work around. We're stuck."

"That makes you... sad? Angry? Hurt?"

"It _frustrates _me because we care about each other, we... _love _each other but this has stopped us from being able to exchange even the most basic of thoughts. I didn't spend that much time working on my communication skills just to have something I have no control over ruin all my hard work." The pain in House's eyes was genuine, and Nolan really felt for the guy. He felt for Lisa, too, and the whole family for ending up in such an awful situation.

"Are you really telling me that you don't talk _at all?_"

"Oh, we'll talk about what we want for dinner and who's turn it is to take the garbage out but that's about it."

"So trying to avoid talking about the assault has invaded enough of your thoughts that it's all you two are thinking about... I'll be honest, it doesn't sound like you're avoiding it very successfully." Nolan was being as gentle as possible, but he knew that House didn't always respond to 'gentle'.

"_What _do I say? Seriously, tell me," he answered, an unusually open edge to his voice.

"I can't tell you."

"Don't give me any of that 'work it out for yourself' crap. You don't know. No one knows."

Nolan leant forward. "You're right. No one knows - and no one _can _know, because everyone is different. Everyone will react differently. There's no protocol, no magic words."

House put his head in his hands. "I can't do this," he said quietly.

"You can," Nolan assured him.

"I _can't,_" he stressed, and when he looked up Nolan could see a thin sheen in his eyes.

"Are you planning to leave her?" He asked gently.

"No," House replied, but sadly. "I wouldn't - I couldn't. I love her."

"Are you staying with her because you want to or because you feel obligated to?" Nolan pushed. He could see how uncomfortable thinking about this made House.

"I'm staying with her because I need her in my life. I just need _her - _not this person she's turned into."

"Do you think these changes within her are permanent?"

House sighed. "I don't know," he muttered. There was a pause, and then House started to speak again. "She has moments, every now and then, where it's like she's completely fine. She and I can be together - to an extent - and she isn't terrified... she isn't angry or exhausted. And she always, _always, _convinces me - even if it's not overt or deliberate - that this change is lasting. Sometimes she even says "I'm going to be just fine" with such a sense of revelation and hope that I can't help but believe her. But... it doesn't last. Ever. Everything's always up and down."

Nolan nodded and a silence filled the room. House watched his therapist, could see the cogs whirring in his head. "Do you know what happened to her?" He asked, suddenly, catching House off guard.

House blinked, confused. "Yeah?" He responded, as if it was were an idiotic question.

"I don't mean know the basics - I mean, do you really _know _what she went through?"

House deliberated. "I don't know any of the specifics, if that's what you're asking."

"I think you should ask her."

House's eyes widened. "I don't want to ask her," he said with vehemence.

Nolan smirked a little. "Hypothetically, if you _did _ask her, what do you think she would say?"

"I don't think she'd want to tell me," he said immediately.

Nolan paused. "You two both need to _try _and stop being scared of what happened. The fact that, when you got down to it, neither of you would be able to cope with that conversation is irrelevant - it's your unwillingness to try that's going to keep you stuck."

House scrubbed his face in his hands. "I should ask her to tell me about everything he did to her?"

"You should tell her how you feel. And - more importantly - you should be willing to hear what she says about how _she _feels, even if you don't like it."

House sighed and then looked up with the hint of a smirk on his face, as if he couldn't quite believe the conversation. "This is so hard," he said. "It is _so _hard."

* * *

Cuddy shut the door softly as she left Rachel's room, hoping not to disturb her from her sleep. Rachel had always been a light sleeper but now she seemed to be even more attuned to her mother's movements from her side, making exiting the bedroom after story time a difficulty. Knowing this, Cuddy padded down the hallway as gently as possible, her feet merely tapping the floor before she moved again.

House looked up as she careered into the living room, thrown off balance by walking on her tip toes. He couldn't suppress his chuckle as she catapulted herself into the armchair, using the cushions to break her fall.

She looked up and smirked at him. They held each other's gaze just long enough to feel the unsaid words between them, almost palpable in the air. The unspoken emotion hung heavily on both their minds, practically emanating out of them. Cuddy looked at House and House looked at Cuddy, both willing each other and themselves to speak.

But then the moment began to slip away. Cuddy bit her lip and glanced away, breaking the tension. House fiddled with the journal he'd been reading, the sound of the crinkling paper disrupting the silence. He hardened his gaze for a second, almost pleading with her to start the conversation. _Please, Cuddy. _

But she didn't. She merely got up and made her way toward the kitchen, ignoring his sigh behind her as poured herself a glass of water. She scrubbed at her face in exasperation.

House moved his eyes back to the page in front of him but he wasn't really reading. His ears were tuned to her movements. He heard her gulp down the water and place the glass on the counter. He heard her move back toward him, her bare feet pressing softly on the wooden floor.

He was ready for her when she placed herself next to him. He reached over to give her thigh a gentle squeeze, all without taking his eyes away from the article. She gripped his hand tightly as it caressed her leg. She looked at him and he looked at her.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?"

House looked up. "What?"

"You and I. Us."

He sighed. He started to say, "we're going through a hard time," but didn't have the willpower to finish it. Instead he settled on "yeah. We are."

Cuddy bit her lip. "Are you happy?"

The question filled the room. The answer was unpleasant, but House wasn't one to be dishonest. "Not right now, no. You?"

She paused for a second, but she knew her answer. "No." She turned and faced him. "Not at all."

House thought back to what Nolan had said in their session earlier that week. "If I wanted you to, would you tell me what happened to you? In detail. Could you... share that with me?"

He expected some reservations from her at his request, but nothing like the indignation and rage that he was met with. "What, do you think that you're _entitled _to know that?" She spat. "That somehow it's _your _problem just as much as mine?"

He was shocked. "No... I just that it might help us - "

"How?" She replied, and House had to admit that she had a point. "_How _would that help us? Do you really want to hear about how he held me down as I screamed, begging for _you _to come and find me? How he'd taunt me, telling me that I'd never see Rachel again. How he... he..." Her fiery determination faltered and she stopped, much to House's happiness. He had to hold his hands down to stop himself from covering her mouth as she spoke. She wasn't crying - she was far too defensive for that right now - but she was shaking.

She was right, of course. He didn't want to hear any of it - but he had to admit, he was beginning to see Nolan's point. She didn't trust him with this information. She was guarding it like a mother would her child, refusing to let him in. And he was letting her.

He could see the blaze in her eyes and knew that she was squaring up for a fight. As much as he wanted to push back - as their dynamic dictated he would - he stopped himself and he reached forward and grabbed her hands with his.

"Talk to me," he implored. "_Please._"

She was caught so off guard by his openness that words failed her. "About what?" She said after a moment.

He shrugged. "Anything," he settled on. "Anything at all."

As she rooted around inside herself for the courage to say what was really on her mind, she focused on the man sitting before her. Her man. The one who - at least she hoped - she would be waking up next to for the rest of her life.

"You should have been there."

House stilled as the words left her mouth. He felt the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten. "This isn't my fault, Cuddy," he said delicately. "I wish I'd been there. But I wasn't."

"If you'd been there, this wouldn't have happened."

Each sentence of hers was like a knife to the gut. He felt his leg throb. "You don't think I know that?" He muttered, a hard edge to his voice.

"I'm sure you do," she whispered.

"So that's what this is about?" He asked, the volume of his voice rising. "You can't blame me for this." He said darkly. "It's not fair."

"It's irrational and stupid," she mumbled. "But it's how I feel," she admitted, looking at him straight in the eye.

He remembered what Nolan said._ "You should tell her how you feel. And - more importantly - you should be willing to hear what she says about how she feels, even if you don't like it."_

He braved himself to follow that advice, but then he thought... fuck that.

"I would do _anything _to be there with you!" He shouted, taking her by surprise. "_Anything. _There is _no way _that you and I can move past this if you spend all your time blaming me and hating me. _Blame him. Hate him. _Not me." He cupped her face in his hands. "I wish more than anything that I could have been there. But I wasn't. You have to stop hating me, when _I'm _the one trying to help you most." _  
_

"Right..." She drawled. "Because _everything _you do is about how _I _feel."

He wiped a hand across his brow. "What's _that _supposed to mean?"

"You drag me to the hospital in the middle of the night, you keep me up, you bully patients and scare donors and break equipment. You pull away from me and then get close to me and you're sweet to Rachel and then you're _not _sweet her because you're getting too close and you're up and down and it _fucking stresses me out,_" she panted, eyes wide with fury. "You _think _that you're being helpful but you're not. You're just being _you. _How you act is ultimately about _you _and what _you_ want."

He was speechless. "I... don't know what you want." He replied listlessly after a minute. "I'm trying everything I can to support you."

She put her head in her hands. "I know you are..." She said softly. "It's just not enough."

There was a silence. House's fists clenched as he thought about what he wanted to say. "I know that I'm not supposed to get mad at you or shout at you because you were beaten up and raped and that was awful... but you are being _fucking unreasonable._"

Her eyes widened. "Unreasonable for demanding that you _don't _destroy the hospital?"

"Unreasonable for suggesting that I should know instinctively how to look after you, when you have given me absolutely _no _guidance. This isn't one of those things that people are just prepared for. I don't know how to do this - you can't honestly believe that I'm supposed to just a manual in brain to sort this. _Help me to help you. _I'm not warm, caring or loving but I am trying to be for you - because you'll will never truly know how glad I am that I didn't lose you. Even now I'm just thankful that you're here for me to fight with."

"I want you to know how to help me," she said wistfully in response.

"I don't, and I probably won't unless you _tell me._"

There was pause. "I don't know what to say."

House sighed. "Why I don't I spend the night at Wilson's. You can think."

Cuddy nodded absentmindedly, clearly battling with the thoughts racing through her head. House went up to get his coat and motorcycle keys. His hand was almost on the front door when she spoke.

"Drive safely."

He shook his head and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

House hadn't said much to Wilson when he turned up at his door. Something about a fight. Wilson had merely nodded and grabbed a blanket from the cupboard, laying it down for his friend. House had fallen asleep almost immediately after a glass of scotch, clearly ready for the day to be over.

Wilson was about to pad back to his and Sam's room when he noticed House's phone on the coffee table. His friend needed to rest, he thought, so he gently reached and switched off the ringer and vibrate function.

And House did sleep through.

He slept through message number 1, left at 12:30 - _House, it's me. I know you're mad and you want to be alone but this is the first night I've spent without you since this all started and I wasn't prepared for it. I'm shit scared, House. Come home. Please, please, come home. I'm sorry. _

And message number 2, at 3:15 - _Seriously, this isn't funny. I can't sleep, I'm sitting downstairs with all the lights on but I keep thinking that he's going to come through the backdoor or the window. I know that you always leave your phone - don't ignore me. Help me, House. I'll sleep on the couch or in the spare room if you want but I need you here with me. _

And message number 3, at 4:20 - _I couldn't sleep. I still can't sleep. YOU asked me to tell you how to help me and I did and you ignored me. House I'm scared. I'm terrified. It's just me and Rachel here and I can't protect her if anything happens. I would try, of course I would die trying, but I'm not strong enough for that. I'm alone, House. You're supposed to be here with me. I remember how you and I worked through it together at the hospital and I miss that... I miss us supporting each other. We can have it back. I __love you. _

Her final message was at 5:55 - _I can't believe you left me. _

House slept through it all.


End file.
